


Blood Lily Company

by Hellthera



Category: Original Work
Genre: Afghanistan, Anticipation, Gen, Mercenaries, Parallel Earth, Some angst, Unrequited Love, parapsy gifts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 72,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28752474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellthera/pseuds/Hellthera
Summary: Adaptation into english of "La Compagnie du Lys de Sang", my original work already on Ao3.Earth post-Covid 19.  Or a parallel Earth?  Doesn't really matter.  Humanity evolved.  Not necessarily in a good way.And I, stupid asshole that I am, have decided to tell the story of a Company of mercenaries in the Middle-East.  A Company falling into decline.  Until that fateful day...





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewords
> 
> This is a fiction I wrote for my own fun, with my own characters.  
> It will be non-politically correct, there will be mention of sex, but no smut, no porn, no outright making out. There will be mention of religion, of politics, and so on.
> 
> I write what I like, you read what you like. If you don’t like it, well, go read something else. If you do like it, you’re most welcome.  
> I have the right to write what I want, you have the right to be offended. If that is the case, fuck off and have a good day. And I have a good way of dealing with those courageous people hiding behind an Internet ID to spill their hateful guts, you know, those “trolls”.
> 
> Again, if you enjoy my silly story, please, come in, read, enjoy… Here is a nice cup of tea while you read. Would you like cookies with your tea?  
> ;) 

Afghanistan, the year is 21 ... not really important, actually.

Since the big pandemic of 2020 and what followed, our world has turned strange. Some said, that the virus itself was the source of the mutations, others said they happened because the virus prepared us for them. Bullshit! Anyway, Humanity has changed. For better, or slightly less good, that depends on how you see it.

The true old-timers, if you listen to them, will tell you that, in their time, yada yada yada, but, if you listen closely, it appears that the changes, these mutations, existed only in the crazy minds of science-fiction and heroic fantasy writers of their time. Hell! Somebody had thought about those 'Gifts' before Humanity started using them...

Anyway, some Gifted people started appearing: telekinetics, empaths gone stark raving mad, poor guys... Some developed healing Gifts, some precognition... I should organize my thoughts in a better way. Sorry, times are strange.

We are the Blood Lily Company. Mercenaries. A bunch of dirty bastards until they arrived and reshaped us into what we are now: a bunch of dirty bastards with one hell of a moral compass and code of honor, a success rate of 99% and the reputation that comes with it. Yeah, I know, 99% success rate in our missions in the powder keg that is the Middle-East is difficult to believe. And yet... Numbers don't lie. 99%, guys!

The Blood Lily is our Captain. A forty year old hard-boiled woman. 1.80 meters high and 70kg of muscles and bones. Because I have seen her in her undies, I can promise that there is not an ounce of fat under her golden skin. She is built like a gymnast, slender but muscled and yet, she can lift her own weight without even breaking a sweat. She even carried 110 kg once, but that's another story.

She has pure white hair, short on the side, longer on top. That lock sometimes falls in front of her eyes and she has become a master of playing it to the max. Her eyes are so black, they look pupil-less. That may be the case, who knows with the mutations.

Her vision is so good, by day or by night, we sometimes call her Eagle Eye. In the morning, she can tell which one of us has drunk the night before and what liquor it was. And we learned very quickly that whispering in the compound is useless. She is beautiful. As beautiful as the panther that looks at you wondering which part of you to start eating.

I said, earlier, "Until they arrived" because she came with two other guys. Two blue-eyed blond haired guys. From Iceland, supposedly. I can believe that for the big one, he looks like a Viking on steroids.

The smaller of the two is a little taller than she is, 1.85 to 1.90m and much wider in the shoulders. When his blue gray gaze is on you, you feel evaluated. Weighted. Almost judged. The girls of the company think he's handsome. Cant' tell, I am a straight guy.

The big one. Well, the big one is... an exception, in many ways. He is 2.15 meters tall (we had a wager on it, but had to ask because, at some point, you just can't guess) and weighs 110kg (yep, those the Blood Lily carried). I can assure you he is not reedy, nor willowy, nor any other adjective to describe a lithe figure. Even wider-shouldered than the smaller one, we always dread hearing the seams pop when he takes a deep breath. His arms are like my thighs, his thighs...

Contrary to the other one, with short hair and a perfect shave, the giant has the longest hair I have seen on a man (down to his ass, actually), most of the time up in a bun but nobody would dare laugh about it. He has a very aristocratic looking beard/goatee and can convey a whole lot of messages with his smiles and his eyebrows. Mind blowing!

Of him, the girls say he is as beautiful as a god. Our homos say so too. I feel attracted to that guy too. Can't say it's sexual. Can't say it's not. Really, having my head upside down like this because of a guy, it's disturbing. Especially as those two guys act like an old couple, finishing the other's sentence, understanding each other with a look...

We wondered at some point if they were not a couple. At a time, they would have been mocked, or worse in some countries, but nowadays, gay couples are quite common. Anyway. The Icelandic guys have the same name, Hellason, and before learning it was a patronymic and not a last name, we had married them, in our minds. But, no, they are brothers. And I think that the only lady in the Company they haven't rolled in the hay with is the Blood Lily.

* *

When they arrived at our base, we found ourselves a big bunch of wankers. Cos one morning, very early, we woke up to a gunshot. Smith & Wesson 44 Magnum. An antique (I saw it, even cleaned it one day), older than its owner. None of us even use revolvers any more. The din made us fall off our bunks and we all ran outside, not one of us properly dressed. It had been a while since we've had customers, so we were all but a bit too casual about a lot of things. So, we go out.

And, at the foot of our flagpole, her back to us, cool as a cucumber, this woman, with two warriors at her side, with their fingers on the trigger guard. Not soldiers. Warriors. Guys that just ooze war from all the pores in their skin.

They were all wearing military fatigues in that ochre color, so adapted to the landscape of Afghanistan, and all their equipment had the same color, boots included. The only reprieve came from the black of their Ray-Ban Aviators and their guns.

She had her back to us because she had just taken down the blue and white flag of our company, to replace it with another one, red and dark brown. We would soon learn the meaning of those colors.

The Captain, the previous one, bawled like a bull and rushed her, while she still had her back to him. He weighed more than 100 kg too, but, recently, there was more fat than muscles. Anyhoodles, ain't fun receiving a hundred kilos of meat on the back, whether it's muscled or not.

She sidestepped him at the last moment and he cracked his mug on the pole. There was a big geyser of hemoglobin, painting the white flagpole, then he crumpled at her feet, dead, extinguished.

Our sentinels, whom we thought killed for a while since there had been no alarm before the gunshot, came at that time, unarmed, unharmed, and holding their aching heads. That's when I noticed the Viking was carrying, on top of his own stuff, our men's AK-47 Kalashnikov machine guns. Holy shit! They had neutralized them without killing them. Gently. _En douceur_.

Actually, during the takeover, there would only be two casualties: the Captain and the Lieutenant.

She lowered her eyes to the stiff, gave a little nod to the smaller warrior.  
\- A–ttention! he bellowed. And, whaddaya know, we all lined up. Just like that, pavlovian reflex! In pajamas, briefs, baby dolls, bare-chested, in the cold of the dawn, we all lined up. The only ones who didn't freeze their asses off were the sentinels. It's too bloody cold in the mountains to spend the night outside without a jumper.  
\- At ease, she said. Fuck, her voice... The kind that gives you dreams. Dreams you would only confess once well and truly plastered. Then, under the velvet of that voice we heard the steel we would all learn to know so well. Soldiers, you are subject to an arrest warrant from the European Court of Human Rights for war crimes.

So, _voilà_ , the tone is set. Shit, hell of a mood turner, that kind of accusation. Well, we are in time of war so, sometimes, we kinda slipped, you know... And the Captain, the dead one, eh? He gave us the orders, right, so shouldn't he be the only one held responsible? We just followed his orders, so how can we be guilty, huh? No, it doesn't work like that these days, it seems.

The Lieutenant must have thought that all of us against the three of them could do it and that once they were dead, a warrant? What warrant? Anyway, he shouted something like "At them" and he went straight for them. Those of us in the front row saw a white eyebrow rise and then the Lieutenant fell dead, too. From his right eye protruded a long steel hair stick. We stared at the giant. His loose hair was down his back, brushing below his ass, and a few locks waved in the dawn wind. Fuck! We hadn't seen him move!  
\- Any other...interruptions? No? Good. You are in luck, soldiers. Given the current circumstances, The Court, in need of men around here, has asked me to give you all a chance to prove that you are better than those two men, she continued pointing to our ex-officers. I will be the sole judge of your progress. Those who don't want to reform have better die in combat, if they do not want to find themselves in the dock in The New Hague. Understood?

After the two violent deaths, none of us opened our cake hole.  
\- Fine. I want you in five minutes in fatigues at the mess hall. She pointed her finger at me. I want you here in five minutes.

We all ran. When I came back to the muster ground, the warriors had disposed of the bodies and put their stuff on the ground, properly, in the shade. Now they only carried a handgun and a long knife, machete-like. All three of them. I showed them to the mess hall. The whole company was there, at attention, in fatigues, up to the cook and his two helpers.  
\- One last word before our first breakfast in common. I am Captain Lineik. They are the Lieutenants Hellason. She got a little nasty smile. Two Lieutenants with the same name will set the tune. Fine. You are now, and until I decide differently, members of the Blood Lily Company. Our colors are not red and brown but fresh blood and dried blood.

She looked around the room and each of us had the feeling she fixed her black eyes on them.  
\- _Bon appétit._

This is how started thefirst day of our new life. And what a hell of a life, God!


	2. Chapter 2

That day, and the following days, we moved earth. We started by digging two graves, a little far from the camp. Obviously, with the heat, our two stiffs would start to stink.

The Captain, the Blood Lily this time, sent eight soldiers on sentry and the rest of us to dig, men and women. With foldable spade shovels. That's all we had.

And the ground, in our little corner of this world, is super hard and we have had a fucking hard time. As it was taking a little too long, the Viking stepped in. He took his jacket off and then, a few minutes later, as the sun began to beat hard on us, he took his T-shirt off.

Oddly, we all stopped digging. Don’t know why. Maybe we bugged. Like: « Soldier.exe has stopped functioning »…

No, actually, I know why. Because only on Mr. Universe posters have I seen that kind of ripped body. Or in gay magazines. I don't read them, but you see their covers each time at the newspapers stand.

As a note, what is also striking are his scars. At the small of the back, four parallel lines across his entire back. And a sort of star on the right shoulder. In the front, under the ribs, two oval ones, one under the other, on the right. Round scars on the left arm and shoulder. We found out later he had some on his legs, too. Seriously, I've rarely seen a guy with such a collection. And, over the next ten years, he would get more.

On the left side, just under his pec, he has a tattoo the like of which I have never seen before. It’s not the design, OK? The design is that of a bird with wide open wings, a hawkbill and a long tail. Beautiful. It’s the colour of the ink: it is light. As in made of light. Bioluminescent, it seems. Weird. But the result is magnificent.

In short, he made us bug. And when he saw that we stopped working, he gave us one of his smirks with a raised eyebrow, the kind we were going to get to know. But never to really understand. Only the other one and the Captain understand them.

Then Windows found the solution to the problem and we restarted.

And at 1130, two graves had been dug, as deep as necessary. We were not used to working like this anymore, our T-shirts were sweat stained down to our navels in the front, to the small of our backs, to the belt under our arms and we were as dust covered as the ground we were standing on.

The Viking whistled shrilly and with one look from him we all lined up, at attention. Yep, he just needed one look.

When the Blood Lily appeared around the corner of the building, with the other Lieutenant and the sentries, he put his T-shirt and jacket back on. He looked spotless, that motherfucker! And we were grimy as fuck.

The sentries were carrying two gurneys with our departed officers. _Sans_ shroud but in full dress.

We put them into the ground without much ado.  
\- Fine. I will not have the hypocrisy to tell the eulogy of these two scumbags. They have been sentenced to death in absentia. I have pleaded their case and got life sentence for the Captain. But your lieutenant would have been executed anyway. Why? Because, if your orders came from your Captain, it was the Lieutenant who let you commit the crimes you are accused of. Now go to lunch, no need to change.

No tombstone, no wooden cross. Not even that small heap that indicates a grave. We had to disperse the extra earth on the way back. The two "scumbags" were sentenced to oblivion.

After chow, we moved earth. Again.

Now, so you understand a little, I need to take a virtual step back and describe where our base is.

First, some history. A quick one, don’t worry. After the epidemic of 2020, the geopolitics of the whole place changed. During the post 9/11 war (it happened in 2001), there were, around here, guys, with AK-47 in one hand and Coran in the other, established themselves as warlords to push the Americans and their allies back.

Then, around 2022, despite the place being wrecked by the epidemic, those guys realized they just couldn’t give their power back to the central established government, whether Afghanistan, Irak and around, and the countries collapsed. So, when I say Afghanistan, I should say So&so province, ex-Afghanistan… Don’t get your hopes too high, guys, I won’t tell you where we roost. I ain’t crazy!

Well, the rest of the world didn’t fare too good either. The US of A had turned into a religious state, had closed their borders and decided to forget the rest of the world. Looked like it suited a lot of people, actually. But, well, me and politics are not friends, all right? As long as they bring us paying customers…

Europe was forgeing through, which was for the best for us as we got paid in new euros, the strongest currency in the world. Or in gold, platinum, gems. Good solid safe assets.

Now, onto a little geography. The Company is set up in an old caravanserai, on one branch of the Silk Road. The advantage is that it’s at a crossroads, there’s traffic. It’s also the drawback.

The caravanserai overlooks the crossroads and the village, a little dilapidated but populated nevertheless. You have to go up the northern road for a kilometer or two, take a half passable lane and you get to a windswept plateau. At the end of the plateau, there is our base.

A caravanserai is generally square, or rectangle, with one door, and around a well, usually in the middle of a big courtyard. That is the case for ours.

And that is what she had us redesign to her liking.

We started by digging a ditch all around, at 10m from the walls. 3m wide, as deep, V-shaped, we would later plant metal rods in it. The rubble, earth and stones, we put on the roofs and against the outside walls, to lower the impacts from artillery fire and protect us from armor-piercing bullets. Good point, Captain, good point.

It took us about ten days. Every evening, we would crash down on our bunks and, in the morning, we needed at least a crane to get out of them. We grumbled like we invented the concept. It hurt like hell... But we quickly understood that we would get no mercy from this woman. Unless we proved ourselves.

Because, actually, the Blood Lily is a woman with rare compassion and immense kindness. I ain’t kidding. She accepted the mission from the ECHR because she believed, with all her heart, that she could save some of us. But we had to work at it. Anyway.

As the days went by, we noticed we ached less and less, that the hard labor was getting easier, that our fat was melting away. At the end of the day, moving earth is good for you.

Once the ditch was done, we dug a second one, across the plateau, with a wall just before it. Ten days again. We were of course not as muscled as the Viking, and not even close to his brother, but we now sported nice abs and pecs and obliques. And stamina. And a fucking huge appetite.

We had to stop because one of the local warlords (there are 4 or 5 of them around at war – kind of, more like a tepid war – with each other) came to see what was happening and, well, he didn’t like our fortifications. We took a few mortar shorts, with no significant results thanks to the new rubble roofs.

They left, we came out and started digging holes again.

In front of the door, we build a kind of fort, from rocks and sandbags, as a first line of defense.

Then, she made us dig out about 50cm of earth in the courtyard. The rubble went on the roofs, as usual. Obviously, we had to make steps to get into the buildings, now. Oh well…

In the courtyard, she outlined a 10x10 meters space where we dug out about 20cm more. She opened some extra sandbags and we filled that hole with sand. We couldn’t even start to guess what her goal was.

We ended up knowing what it was. In the Company, we have a few non-fighting people: the doctor and her nurse, the cook and his two aides.

The Captain forced them to learn, on this sandy square, a very vicious martial art, where anything goes. We had to learn it, too. First unarmed combat, then with knives, then guns. Incredible how fast you learn when a 30cm long blade whistles in on your jugular!

Incredible what you can do without a weapon.

The best part of this training is when, completely exhausted, sitting on the ground trying to catch our breath, we can admire the two Icelanders trying to knock each other out. They don’t hold back, together. The Viking is the slower of the two. But only when compared to his brother. Or to the Blood Lily.

They were as graceful as ballet dancers, these blokes. And they would dare it all. They would strike everywhere on the other’s body, no holds barred.

Once, the big one struck the little one in the balls. He fell, ready to puke. Immediately the Viking came out of his combat mode and came close, on one knee, to apologize or something.

And then the little one’s hand snaked out, grabbing the crotch of the big one, who tensed up with pain. The little one landed a jab on his chin, the big one fell on his back. The little one jumped to straddle him and punched him repeatedly. The Viking put an arm out to protect his face, so the little one grabbed this throat and squeezed. Well, I call him the little one, who is anything but. It’s only when compared to the Viking, OK?

The Captain walked to them, in a leisurely way, caught the thumb of the little one and, without visible effort, undid the throat grip.  
\- Up.

They immediately obeyed. She had her back to us, so we don’t really know what happened, but the two of them looked definitely sheepish. Apparently, they had gotten carried away. Probably a quarrel to be cleared up. It would never happen again.  
\- Nice demonstration that strength and weight aren't everything. Whoever knocks him down will be rewarded. She was pointing at the Viking with her thumb.

That would never happen either.


	3. Chapter 3

The first night, she gathered us around her in the mess hall. There she made some fine tuning, on various subjects.

The first thing she did was hand us oval badges, fresh blood lily of dried blood background, to sew onto our uniforms. We also had to remove everything else, apart from our blood types: names, ranks, decorations (pff, as if we had had any...). In short, anything that could identify us personally.

She wanted the outside world to know which Company we belonged to, but not who was who within.

Then, she ordered us to call her "Lin" and never Captain. The Viking was called Erik Hellason, he was nicknamed "Erk" or the Viking. The little one was called Kristleifur Hellason, we all found "Kris" so much easier to remember

Our two sergeants, like the four corporals, kept their rank and their post until further notice, we nicknamed them "Curly" for the bald one (of course), and "Shorn" for the other one, since he wasn’t. Has to make sense, right?

Each of the brothers had under him one sergeant, two corporals and troops. The doctor (who became “Doc”, of course), the nurse (who became “Nanny” despite his beard and muscles), the cook (guess his nickname…) and his helpers (Ketchup and Mustard), were directly under the Cap… Lin.

When, the next day we continued moving earth with the Viking, Kris was given the chore of inventory.

And when the first ditch was finished, a helicopter surprised us all by delivering us a lot of stuff we needed, and food.

The doctor was completely stunned when she opened the packages: essential oils, herbal teas, silk threads for sutures, hydrogen peroxide, honey in quantities. Opium. Well, there was also normal stuff but still...

Lin explained that her two Icelanders were allergic to anything artificial or synthetic. "Hell of a problem," she said, Doc. Lin confirmed that this was mostly a problem for Erk. The Doc didn't get it right away.

Yeah, forgot to tell you, the doctor is a petite woman, about 1.55m high, with a hell of a grip and who takes absolutely no shit from anyone. She also has that doctor’s attitude that makes you obey no matter what. Even the Viking is more than tractable with her.

The first time she tried to force him to obey her (his brother had dislocated one of his shoulders in a workout, she had put it back in place and wanted him to keep his arm in a sling), he lifted her up, kissed her deeply and, with a smirk and a saucy eyebrow aimed at his audience (all of us), threw her over his shoulder, pretending to take her to his bed.

Lin just shook her head, as if she was used to his shenanigans. I’m sure she was.

Doc was not an expert yet in our very vicious martial art, but she wasn’t a doctor for naught. She knew where to hit to hurt. Hitting the giant in the kidneys with closed fists, she knocked him to the ground. Should have seen his face!

We all had a good laugh, him not the last, but at the time he looked more surprised than a rooster that had laid eggs! After that, he obeyed. Especially when she prescribed him a little “warrior's rest”, if you get my drift… And if you don't, well, too bad.

Cook, ex US citizen, was also surprised to receive organic foods, but he is a quiet man, so he turned some of the fresh stuff into a… well, almost a feast and, damn, it was delicious!

Part of the load from the bird were weapons, state-of-the-art communications gear, fatigues, jungle boots, bush hats, sunglasses, etc. In short, some stuff to restuff ourselves somewhat.

There were seeds, too. Potting soil, true garden soil and organic fertilizers.

With help from Ketchup, Lin chose the best place in the caravanserai and, all together, we created a fucking vegetable garden in the middle of the desert (or quasi desert, doesn’t rain often here).

A little clarification: the well of the caravanserai is an artesian well down to the aquifer. It's pretty darn deep and we'll never run out of water, unless, of course, the climate here changes drastically. So we got ourselves a vegetable garden.

Cook was too happy to have fresh vegetables every day, Ketchup loved gardening, and Mustard took to home preserving.

As for the rest of us poor souls, we went on digging holes and carrying gravel. And then, when the ditches were dug, we planted the pointed metal spikes at the bottom, delivered by helicopter, we stretched canvases over our ditches, covered them with loose earth and we understood why and we came to pity the poor son of a gun who would try and cross without knowing the safe passage. I can just tell you it’s not in front of the door.

So, between the two ditches, we built a sort of barbican, a thing from the Middle-ages, an advanced fortification to defend the gate. Actually, I think that if we had had a river close by, we would have had moats, around the base, not camouflaged ditches. The Captain was applying medieval military principles to the defense of our compound.

When we were done with moving earth, we relearned the job of soldier. Running with 30kg on your back, shooting, learning local languages (Dari, Pashto, Turkmen…), and all that jazz. French became the secret language of the Company, simply because it had not been spoken in the region for at least a century. Those who spoke French, your humble servant included, had the task of teaching others the basics. With the Blood Lily, we developed a vocabulary laced with slang, to further complicate decryption.

In the afternoons, awake for almost eight hours, we would meet in the mess hall to discuss strategy, tactics, local politics. All of us.

She wanted all of us to know as much as she because, as she put it, an army is only as good as its lowest foot soldier is. So, we learned a lot. And when the first mission came, we all discussed it and only volunteers went.

But that’s another chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

I am not sure where to start. The Viking showed us a side of him we knew nothing about.

I mean, we saw him murder one of the Company’s two lieutenants before it became the Blood Lily’s. We saw him take his shirt off, literally, to dig holes and ditches with us. We saw him teach us to defend ourselves, patient and ruthless, we saw him saucy and joking, but that… I didn’t know that this still existed. But I will have to come back to it.

We had no mission yet, were still re-learning how to be soldiers, in a certain way. The Cap… Lin – I need some time to wrap my mind around it, I told her the first, third and tenth time she corrected me – Lin, then, was working with us. We had marches by day, marches by night, marches with our equipment and marches without. We ended up knowing the place quite well. We almost could have moved around blindfolded and say where we were. We also had capture-the-flag and stealth infiltration types of action.

All of this training was done in some sort of war games, with real weapons, but firearms were absolutely forbidden. We could only use blades, garrote and martial arts. Once again, you learn quite fast how to avoid getting hit. Especially after having been knocked out from the back at 3m from the objective and waking up trussed up, facing an angry Viking.

And I can assure you the furies of the Viking are an event you’d better be only a spectator to.

When they seize him and he cannot get rid of them easily, he goes digging. That’s how we had a third ditch, visible, obvious line of defense. It is U-shaped, 4m large, 3m deep. For now. And at the deepest point.

That’s also how, behind the caravanserai, we got the pit. A hole dug into the ground, where they dump you when you’ve gone and done something stupid. A 4m deep, 2m wide well. You go down at the end of a rope, you come back out by pulling yourself up a rope. Don’t expect help with coming out! Plus it’s good exercise.

Apart from the Icelanders, all the Company’s fighters have been in there at least 48 hours. And Nanny. Because he pursued one of the girls with unwanted assiduities, Lin punished him. We got the lesson right. Sex is OK within the Company, but only consenting. No is no, damn it all!

The Icelanders… That’s how, among ourselves, we call our senior officers. French, laced with _argot_ – French slang– became the official language of the Company, because it had not been heard in this part of the world for almost a century. Fine. But, if they wanted a secret language, why not use Icelandic? I mean, the three of them must be the first to show their faces around here…

Then I got it, after hearing them exchange at full tilt in Icelandic. They needed their own secret language. They didn’t trust us. It’s fair game. I didn’t trust us either, actually. I was a bit ashamed of us.

When Lin discovered my writing, she asked me to keep it away from the Web. And she gave me a box of A5 notebooks and Bic pens. She encouraged me to write, asking me to stay honest. I had starting writing, not to make sure we are not forgotten, but because their arrival and the changes were so… striking, disturbing, I had to get it out of my system.

Please do not believe the Viking is always angry. He is actually a charming character. He is polite, considerate, it would seem, generous, too. But we all remember his hair stick in the eye of the Lieutenant. So we are a little wary.

Kris is more open, more laughing. A joker, too. He has a wonderful sense of humor, accepting to be made fun of, no problem. His issue is that he’s prescient. He has a Gift of precognition. We don’t really know the extent of it, he hides it from us. But we never managed to surprise him. Never. That’s how we discovered his Gift. He has another nasty habit. He answers tit for tat and it’s often more acidic than battery acid. No one is safe from it, not even Lin. But between them, when he dares reply, they settle it on the sand and he loses, always.

The Viking is a good guy. We are a little afraid of him, because he is so much taller and stronger than us. He did what he could to be more accessible. He didn’t succeed right away. And yet, he made lots of efforts. I think he needs us to like him. Or appreciate him, at least. Actually, I don’t know. Don’t care, I ain’t no shrink.

One day, in the mess hall, that big room in which we can do all that we want as long as all is put away and cleaned for chow. We clean our guns there, we play cards and dice, even medieval fantasy role-playing games – there are a few players, your humble servant one of them –, we learn strategy and languages with our officers. Lin had our most precious item installed there: a holographic table. I’ll come back to it.

I started with, One day, at the mess hall. Then I got side-tracked. Sorry.

So, one day, at the mess hall, I saw Erk planted in front of our photos. Many dated from the beginning of the Company, when we could still be proud of it. There were few recent ones. But every year, we took a group picture, to remember our missing mates.

Erk had got it and he was standing in front of the most recent, which we snapped a few months before their arrival.  
\- Yo, Archer! Come here.

I went. Yeah, I am called Archer since they arrived, not because I am an actual archer, but because my main character, when we role-play, is an archer. A female archer, right? I’m a geek, and proud to be.  
\- Makes me think you should start making your nickname right. Could be useful, for us, to be able to field archers. But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. Who is this guy? He wasn’t there, that day…

“That day” is the day he murdered our Lieutenant.  
\- No, that’s right, he wasn’t there. He is our other Lieutenant. We believe him to be dead.  
\- Oh? Come and sit, we’ll talk about it.

He went to Cook and asked for two beers, then we went outside to sit in the shade. It was warm, the beers were as cold as they should be. The cans were gently sweating, bubbles fizzling up. Erk was waiting for me to speak. I finally did.  
\- Our last mission. Not very clean. We didn’t do it properly either. The other Lieutenant gave us orders to loot, he didn’t agree, because this wasn’t a soldier’s camp. They started yelling at each other, we were looting, manhandling and suddenly we got caught in crossfire. We buzzed off, uncleanly, without really taking care of the others. He was the only one we left behind. We called him Fatso. He was a good guy, compared to the others.

I spilled some of my beer on the ground, as a tribute. Out of his back pocket, Erk got a small silver flask and did the same. Then he gave it to me and I spilled three drops. One for each year Fatso had been our Lieutenant.

I was thinking that Fatso, who was not, he was somewhat skinny actually, all sinews and bones, that Fatso was actually a decent guy. But lazy. He never opposed the Captain and very rarely the other sonofabitch of a Lieutenant. And that was a shame because if he hadn’t been so lazy, and if he had survived, they might not have had to send the Icelanders to us. Okay, that’s a lot of ifs. Maybe we needed the Icelanders.

He slapped me hard on the thigh – and a Viking slap is something, let me tell you – and beckoned me follow him. We went to see Lin in her office. I was kinda limping.

She had taken the sonofabitch’s room, letting the brothers share the Captain’s “VIP suite”, much too big for one man. Her office was Fatso’s bedroom.  
\- Lin? I got an idea, thanks to Archer.  
\- Go on.  
\- We need some.  
\- We need some what? Clarify, Erik.  
\- Archers. For stealth. We have close combat, throwing knives, but nothing for mid- to long-range.

She looked at him for a long moment, with her black pupil-less eyes – they always freak me out, those eyes – then she nodded, adding one word: « Tetris ».

What? What does one of the first video games have to do with it?

He nodded in acknowledgement and fast-tracked to the Comm room (communication room).

We quickly got, via the bimonthly heli, an old flat-screen TV-set, in 2D, and video-game controllers. We all had to play the game. Captain’s orders. The Viking and Kris took turns watching us. Sometimes Lin would too. Before we started, Kris handed Lin a list of names.  
\- No more? she asked.  
\- No more, he answered, very sure of himself.

We were looking at the set and controllers, and we didn’t really understood what they were talking about.

Actually, there were ten names on that list. The name of the ten of us, myself included, who would become the best archers of the Blood Lily Company.

Tetris is a very simple game, which consists in stacking blocks of different shapes without reaching the top of the screen. Each completed line is erased, which is how you can play almost indefinitely. Or course, the blocks fall faster and faster, that’s how you lose…

But above all it’s a game that requires good hand-eye coordination. Exactly what an archer needs.

At the end of one week, Kris had won his personal bet. The ten on the list started playing with compound bows and crossbows. We dismantled, reassembled, dismantled, reassembled again our bows, with or without blindfolds, like we do with our guns, in order to be able to do it quickly, and repair them, even in the dark.


	5. Chapter 5

I had teased, in spite of myself, with the beginning of the previous chapter, but so much happened since, I couldn’t write. Lin asked me to do it. She gave some of my corporal duties to the other ones and asked me to spend at least an hour a day writing down what happened.

The Viking is in sick bay, on morphine – extracted from the opium by Lin –, Kris found out he has a price on his head and… and we are all quite worried about our gentle giant.

We never thought we would come to like those two men, and this woman, who turned our lives upside down, but we actually did. Maybe because they gave us rules, and structure, which we needed so much?

While I am writing, Kris sits at his brother’s side, eyes dark with exhaustion and red with grief. We don’t know if Erk is gonna make it. And we want revenge.

We cannot, of course, the Blood Lily forbade us. But we can’t help and hatch Machiavellian schemes for retribution.

Just two hours ago, the men brought the Viking back. Blood-covered, barely able to stand on his feet and struggling away when Doc tried to treat him. We were all hanging out within range of sick bay, to see what took that man down, that man who is so tall and so strong.

He gave us quite a show, poor man! He bolted out of the room, refusing to let the little doctor take care of him. His stomach was but a single bruise, he had a wound – bullet or knife? – in his left shoulder, his back had started bleeding again and there was blood on his thighs. His face, badly bruised, was twisted in pain and he was screaming that absolutely no one would touch him.

Kris stood in front of him, calling him king of assholes and queen of sissies and Lin knocked him out from behind. Then, in a fireman carry, she took him (!!) to the exam table where she gently laid him down, with the help of his brother.

Kris and Doc closed the door, pushing Lin out of sick bay. She stared at us for a moment so we all skedaddled as fast as possible, but not before I saw a wet glint in the dark eyes. The Blood Lily, moved to tears? What the hell happened?

It took me a while to piece the whole puzzle together. Of course, the Viking was the best source but, in his condition, dried up. Kris was second best, if he’d been willing to open up.

In the end, Lin had to pull him out _manu militari_ (now or never for that one) of the room where the giant was lying, to get drunk with him and then put him in bed when he started singing in Icelandic. Even hammered, he has a nice voice, a lovely tenor, a little hoarse, holding up well. Rumor has it she spent the whole night holding him in her arms.

So he could rest and sleep a little, we decided to set up a rotation in sick bay, to watch over Erk. It’s time for me to go.

It’s bad. He is covered in bandages, his breathing is shallow and slow, too slow. He is perfectly still, because of morphine, but under the eyelid which is not hidden by the gauze, I can see his eye rolling any which way, like he is having a nightmare.

I want to give him an anchor point, so I take his big paw in mine. He is hot, a very slight tremor, barely noticeable, shakes him. I talk to him, I reassure him. Can’t remember what I said. I have must have talked about revenge, retribution, whatever.

Nanny came in at that point, to check his variables or whatever they are called. He put his hand on my shoulder and told me to go on, that my voice, like that of the others, seems to be doing him some good.

That’s right, it looks like his eye is not moving so much. Nanny shows me his electroencephalogram. He presses a button and prints the recording, to show me the difference before and after I started talking. It is quite visible that after I spoke his EEG is much calmer. So much the better. I’ll spread the word with the others.

* *

It all started on a beautiful spring morning when the sun… Well, let me stop here. Of course you all know it started at some point. It turned out to be breakfast. As to whether it was spring… In this country, for us Europeans, there are two seasons: the hot one and the slightly less hot one.

So, we were having breakfast, the Viking the butt of a joke from Nanny, I think, he was laughing a lot, with his big happy child smile, so full of joy… and Lin came in.

In the mess hall, we don’t stand at attention when she enters, but, despite that, we get up. It shows how much we respect her, without really realizing it.

She got herself a breakfast tray and sat down at a table, on her own. Rolled up and tucked under the left shoulder tab of her fatigue jacket was a piece of chrome yellow paper. Why chrome yellow? Cos that’s what was left in the printer and she hated waste. This roll of yellow paper – later white –, slipped under her shoulder tab, we would be waiting for it to appear.

The brothers traded a look, took their tray and went to her. As officer, Shorn wanted to join them but a look from Erk stopped him in his tracks. So Curly stopped too.

The Icelanders talked a mile a minute, in Icelandic, of course, while Lin was eating, although that word doesn’t give justice to her dainty manners, so at odds with her occupation.

Anyway, I am getting sidetracked a little too much, with those three guys. People.  
\- Briefing when the dishes are done! said Kris.

We all rushed to give a helping in the kitchen and quickly came back to listen to them.  
\- What diligence! Lin remarked. That bodes well for the future, soldiers.

She picked up the yellow paper that was curling up a bit and showed it to us.  
\- Our first mission. The one that will decide your future and whether the three of us will stay here or not.

Kris looked at an ultra-modern, but not ultra-thin, tablet. The kind of tablet you can lug around these mountains, you can swim across a river with, knock off a cliff top and that will continue to run smoothly.

Ultra reinforced hull, armored glass… It could almost serve as a weapon. In fact, I think that in the hands of the blond, it was a weapon in the making… Anyway.

So Kris played with the tablet and the white wall behind Lin was suddenly filled with photos, most of them taken from satellites.

So, “we” were asked, through the ECHR, to go and pick up a Swiss journalist – what the heck was she doing in that godforsaken place? – and her cameraman. So far, it sounds simple. The issue is where they are.

A few days back, I told you there were 4 to 5 warlords out there at tepid war with each other. One of them barely tolerates us, so of course the others don’t. As in, not at all.  
\- Fine. So, our reporter is a prisoner of the Fucking Sons of… Kris cleared his throat… of the Sons of the Roumi’s Hell, the SRH.

Ouch. Not fun. They pretend to be heirs to Daesh or whatever, a terrorist movement from the beginning of the 21st century. I think they got it all wrong but they are very present and very active, alas. They fear nothing, respect nothing. Apart from courage. And the given word. They can’t be accused of breaking their word.

We are fortunate that research is done upstream, before they call on us. Sad to say, but we are just a tool. Actually, it suits us. If things go south, we can blame it on bad intel.

So we studied the photos of their base, where the GPS chip on the guy’s camera placed them the day before. Kris managed to get a feed from the geostationary satellite just above us and he was able to zoom in on the base.

Awesome! We had a lag of about a minute, for a frame every 15 seconds, but we could see all that was going on in the base. We could see one of the sentries pausing in his round to pee over the wall. Believe me! Pinkie swear!  
\- Were I his boss, I’d shoot his ass off to teach him, Kris blurted out.  
\- Maybe he does that because the rounds are very long. We should check it out. Could be useful to know, mused the Viking.  
\- We should try and count the men. And locate the prisoners, said Curly.  
\- If they are inside, we’re fucked, commented Shorn.  
\- I think they’ll be outside. It’ll be easier to watch them and far less comfy than a cell inside.  
\- How come, easier? Locked up is better, isn’t it?  
\- No, Lin replied. If you’re locked up and can’t be seen, what would you do?  
\- I’d try and get out… Oh! Good point, Cap… Lin, said our favorite Albanian – because we have only one, so he is our favorite –.  
\- Thanks, Tito.

Tito blushed. He is a nice guy. Small enough, for a guy, and as flexible as the proverbial eel. Silent as death, too. When you ask him why he chose to be a soldier, he will answer he had only two choices, due to his size, soldier or garden gnome. As he is not one to grow roots, the choice was easy. He is a funny guy.

Anyway, Lin asked us to study the base and look for the prisoners, while she, with the brothers, lugged crate after crate of weapons, which they put a corner of the mess hall. Cook didn’t say anything, because he’s a quiet one, but Ketchup, a pretty lively redhead, started complaining. Then the Viking gave her his most charming and she caved in.

We ended up coming with a plan and discovering our new toys. But, tonight, I need to know if the Viking is OK. I’ll write again tomorrow. Tonight, it’s too hard to go on. I have a lump in my stomach.


	6. Chapter 6

Stationary state. No improvement, no degradation. Nothing has changed, except that his eye is not moving any more. Maybe he finally is really asleep, safe from what he’s been through that we know nothing about?

Again, I take his big hand. He seems less feverish to me, he’s not shivering any more. Guess it’s positive. Again, I talk to him. I’m not talking about retaliation, this time. Not because Lin forbade us to seek it, but because it’s no use. We will never be able to get our revenge for what they did to him. Never. The Company’s reputation is stained with blood. But Lin doesn’t care.

Yesterday night, we had a visit from the warlord that tolerates us. He goes by the name of the “Old Man in the Mountain”, as if he were the heir of the Master of the Hashishins sect, which gave to our language the lovely word of “assassin”.

But the “Old Man in the Mountain” would never debase himself by visiting a Company of roumis led by a woman. We nicknamed this warlord the Dotard, in derision.

With Lin, who knows very well what the local warlords think of her and her men, no ceremony. She received him in her very small office, right in the middle of paperwork. Of course, nowadays, paperwork is not really paper. We use computers. But just to put him on edge, she created visible paperwork. He tried to get into her good graces, but she didn’t give in.

What came out of this… interview was that the Company is starting to have a fucking reputation. Implacable. Determined. Vengeful.

I attended the meeting, seated at a micro-desk set up especially for this occasion. I was, officially, the Captain’s secretary. Lin wanted me to listen in. As a witness. What I noticed most of all was that she recoiled slightly at “vengeful”.

The warlord was offering her his protection. That gave her one of the very few good laughs since Erk was brought back. It was tinted with malice, though. She let him know that, when his turn would come, she would take care of him too. He left with his tail between his legs.

I’m still talking to the Viking, sharing two or three anecdotes, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Kris. He eyes still have dark circled under them, but despite being drunk last night, he seems to be standing on his own.  
\- Thank you, Archer.  
\- You’re welcome, Kris. Do you know what happened?  
\- Not now. Please.

His hand squeezes my shoulder. Despite his apparent slenderness, he is very strong. His hands are powerful. He isn’t hurting me, but I sense I’d better shut up. I can feel his hand shaking. I pat that shaking hand.

Then I get up and leave him with his brother. I turn around on the way out and look at them. And I find myself envious. Kris’s touches are filled with such tenderness… I have never been that close to my own brother.

* *

I resume my story. I have to. I owe it to him.

So, we unpacked our toys. Lin had us fully re-equipped, not just guns. But we’ll start with that. For firearms, she went to EMA – European Manufacture of Armament –, a European company, based in Brussels, with factories in Sheffield (UK), Saint Etienne (France) and Solingen (Germany). And for the rest, at Fox Guerrilla, a Franco-Spanish company.

For this mission, we each set off with a new handgun, assault rifle and even a sniper rifle. Well, actually, one for the whole team. Let me play the catalog out to you, just this once, I promise.

Handgun: EMA PSAF V4 « Behemoth », 9mm parabellum, OTAN ammunitions. 15-rounds magazine, + 1 in the chamber. It comes with a built-in suppressor. Super light but very efficient, inspired by the famous Glock 17.

Assault rifle: EMA 7. A little gem, just shy of 3 kilos. Caliber 5,56, 30 rounds. I like it.

Sniper rifle: EMA 720 SR « Adlerauge », which means eagle eye. A bit heavy, but can be disassembled into two to four parts, range of 2.5km, caliber 338 Lapua Magnum, 10-rounds magazine. A great gun, amazingly precise.

Then we got blades, in addition to our bows.

Each of us got a “Sandstorm” knife, 25cm of steel and titanium blade with the first 10cm serrated near the guard, and a sort of machete “Amazonia”, same steel, cut-out blade to lighten it. There were other things, but we didn’t need shotguns nor missile-launchers for this mission.

While unpacking and testing our guns, we looked like kids in a toy store. The Viking was playing Santa Claus, handing them out with a big smile, joking about good or naughty children.

We then fine tuned our strategy, then went to equip ourselves. Lin had had large square scarves made – same shape as the keffiyeh – and berets, all of the colour of dried blood, the main color of the Company. With our regular fatigues, they are our uniform. For this trip, she asked us not to wear the beret, just the scarf. We left with the helmets we had finally received, RayBan Aviators, our Behemoth and EMA 7. The Adlerauge was disassembled and distributed to two of us.

We left using the oldest method of transportation known to man, Adam’s compass. We hadn’t received the Land-Rover yet, nor the bikes. Lin would spend her budget when she found out we were worth it.

There were eight of us. Pity. One less would have made us the “Magnificent Seven”, that old cowboy movie.

There were the two brothers, cos you can’t keep them apart. There were Tito, Curly, Baby Jane – a pretty petite English porcelain doll of a girl who can lodge a bullet in a cherry 2km away –, Lullaby – another English girl, not as pretty, an archer, like me –, Poll – a tall, silent fellow – and yours truly, Archer.

Tito and Baby were lugging half the SR each, Lullaby and I had our bows.

Despite the number of kilometers we hiked, our feet never hurt come evening. Here too, Lin had re-equipped us head to toe (!). Instead of the classic modernized jungle boots – misidentified when unloaded – we were wearing knee-high ocher leather boots. Their specificity is that they had three lacings in addition to the two front zippers.

They were laced on the front, outside of the leg, and back. They had to be worn tight enough to avoid chafing, which the three lacings allowed. Once tightened to your liking, to put them on quickly, you just pulled the zippers on either side of the front lacing.

The best-quality full-grain leather of the boots had been tanned with the brains of the animal from which the leather came, giving it incredible elasticity and waterproofing. We just had to grease them once a month and after crossing a river. After little less than an hour of walking, the leather had heated up, molded to the foot and calf, making them as comfy as worn old slippers. Some of us wore them under the fatigues, others, like the Icelanders, with the fatigues tucked in, allowing easy access to the knives slipped into the boots.

We also had a kind of hands-free walkie-talkie. How to put it? We were reusing an old technique from the 20th century, the throat microphone. We had one earpiece housing a short-range antenna. On our throat, we stuck a very flat microphone on each side of the larynx. The vibrations emitted by the larynx when speaking, whatever the sound level, were picked up by the microphone and transmitted to the passive part of the earpiece. This bud would be stuck behind the ear and a very thin metal wire would slip inside the ear canal. Hyper discreet.

The buckles of our belts had a GPS tracker and a signal booster which picked up that of our earpiece and sent it back to base using “Dandelion” relays, very small relays we would regularly sow around us. There had been a lot of progress in warfare and medicine in recent decades.

One of our side missions, and one we would perform each and every time we got out of base, was to sow a number of these Dandelions.

Of course, we had MREs with us, and Lin had chosen the French Army ones, which to this day are still the best. She took the organic version, for the brothers. It wasn’t on a par with Cook’s food, but better than anything else on the market. That was our fare every meal on these four days of trekking through tough dry ex-Afghanistan.

And every evening, because it was fucking cold and we were freezing our balls off – well, not the ladies, of course, but you get my drift –, Erk took his flask out and would drop a little brennivin in our nighttime herbal tea (mint, most of the time). It’s a potato alcohol flavored with caraway, an Icelandic stuff and it’s damn good as a warm up drink.

The second night, the brothers trusted us enough for night guard. It’s cool to finally have earned it. As it went well, the Icelanders ware able to doze off a bit. The following nights, we all took turns.

To trek through these mountains is not easy. We suffered through this. And the Viking, seeing our willingness to endure, always encouraged us. In the evening, he would drop by to see each of us, chat a bit and then, if necessary, treat any ailments, offer a little calf or back massage. He’s got a gift for it.

He is the kindest man I have ever met. Absolutely kind. But, as the Lieutenant’s death had shown us, he can be ruthless when needed. We would get another glimpse of his dark side.


	7. Chapter 7

After four exhausting days of trekking, sleeping on the ground, eating MREs, we finally arrived in position near the SRH fortress around noon. It luckily wasn’t an eagle’s nest, otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to do much. We would have had to call in the “Roses & Rifles” – another company, free fighting squad – for backup.

At the end of a dead-end valley, someone had built a fortress, making sure there was only one entrance and that he was the one watching it.

We left the path 3km before reaching the fortress, scrambled up the mountain on a fucking goat track and found ourselves overlooking the inner courtyard of the fortress.

Baby Jane and Tito set the 720 SR up, Lullaby and I unfolded our bows. Inspired by the double curvature bows of the riders of the Antiquity – Scythians, mainly – they are quite small, but thanks to the pulley they are powerful with a great range, for a small size.

Kris nodded to Poll. His eyes lost his focus for a few seconds, then he raised his thumb. He is a telepath, emitting and receiving, and has great power because he is able, strangely enough, to get carried by the signal from our earpieces and Dandelions. He calls it “riding the waves”. Telecommunications technology has advanced, so has espionage. Poll is our secret weapon. He is linked to another telepath, sadly receiver only, at base. He can inform Lin live, but to transmit back she has to use normal radio waves.

The downsides to his ability’s power are the headaches – I should call them migraines – that knock him down every now and then. He also says the radio waves are elusive at times, as he puts it, and that makes him spend too much energy finding and taming them.

The team strategy is to shoot the sentries as quietly as possible and take down as many fighters as possible before they can react.

Unfortunately, something happened that we weren’t expecting and couldn’t foresee. The journalist, a female, who had managed to hide her gender all this time, was betrayed by her period and the accompanying cramps. We had assumed she would be in a bad shape, what with women being raped when they get caught, but this…

We were hiding overhead, the Viking was shifting his gaze over the bowl through binoculars and suddenly he cursed. Handing the binocs to his brother, he got rid of his harness, weapons, helmet, shades, keeping only his jacket and earpiece, and made a bee-line towards the fortress.  
\- Erik! Kris whispered, come back here right now, for fuck’s sake!  
\- No time, bro, he said into the earpiece and we all heard him. We also heard Lin yelling.  
\- What do you mean, no time, Hellason? This is Lin.  
\- They found her out, they’re getting ready to rape her.

And, right, there was some uproar around the prisoners. We heard a scream, another curse from the Viking through the earpiece.  
\- _Skítt_ , Erik, you’ll screw it up, growled Kris.  
\- She’ll be screwed if we do nothing. Delay it. Archer, Lullaby, shoot.

We complied, took four sentries down. Then the Adlerauge kicked in. Baby Jane shot two of the journalist’s assailants in the ass. Supreme shame, but they had her back to her and she was sure not to shoot through her target. The ass is tender, it absorbs shocks. She had a nasty smirk while shooting. We all have a past.

Erk reached the fortress gate, took a guard by the neck – which he wrung – took his gun and fired it once in the air. It was a Colt 45, made almost as much noise as Lin’s Smith & Wesson. Everyone froze, us included. The Viking immediately dropped the gun and his victim, and found himself the target of all SRH weapons. He wisely raised his hands halfway up, showing them empty.

The SRH leader approached him, preventing his men from shooting at the Icelander.  
\- What are you doing here? he asked, sticking the barrel of his gun under his chin, which, the Viking being the giant he is, is no mean feat.  
\- I’ve come for the prisoners.  
\- All three of them?  
\- All three.

That was a surprise, because, as far as we knew, the Swiss lady had only one cameraman with her. But Erk took the opportunity to same someone else.  
\- And you think I’ll let you?  
\- I hope so, anyway, said the Viking with his wonderful smile. And the leader fell for it. He put his gun away and walked around the giant.  
\- You strong?  
\- So they say.  
\- You fight?  
\- I didn’t get those muscles sorting chickpeas, he said with a laugh.

Seeing him so relaxed, joking, not threatening despite his bulk, the SRH slowly lowered their weapons. We didn’t do anything from where we were perched, because we began to hope – foolishly – that he would be able to get them back without damage. But also because one shot, be it bullet or arrow, was guaranteed to be the death toll of the Viking.

The future ex-rapists had let the journalist go and she was trying to get dressed again. Erk, still very calm, with his big charmer of a smile, his hands still raised, alone and unarmed in front of about thirty armed guys, did not move, patiently waiting for the leader to speak.  
\- I have a deal for you, roumi.  
\- I’m listening, boss.  
\- One of my men is an excellent fighter but has trouble finding a worthy opponent. I thought maybe you could have a little fight.  
\- I am a mercenary, answered the tall blond. I don’t fight for glory.  
\- For money? I have none, roumi.  
\- For the prisoners? suggested the giant.

The SRH leader thought for a moment. Meanwhile, Kris was reeling off a litany of insults to his brother’s intelligence, in French, Icelandic – I guess –, and other languages. Our three officers speak many tongues. Under the guise of scratching his ear, Erk took his earpiece off and whispered “shut up, bro, I need to focus.” Kris complied.  
\- Listen, roumi, here’s what we’ll do. You are going to fight my man. If he wins, you’re mine and you will join the prisoners. If you win, they’re free.  
\- What guarantee do I have that you won’t send your men after us to take us again? I am unarmed…  
\- That’s where I got another idea. I said “they are free”. Not “you are free”.  
\- Not sure I like the way this is going…  
\- What I am suggesting is that you give them a head start.  
\- And how?  
\- If you win, it means you defeated my fighter. And that, you see, is something that I cannot let pass. So, you will pay for his defeat. My proposal is for you to pay their head start with your pain.

The Viking raised his eyebrows in surprise. Kris cursed, lengthy and inventive.  
\- He’s going to say yes, that blockhead will do it. He will accept this fool’s bargain!  
\- Kris, stop your brother from messing around! Lin said, voice strained.  
\- No can do, Lin. He’s calmed things down and if we show up, if we do anything, you can be sure he’s dead meat. There are thirty of them and no shelter in the courtyard. Even you couldn’t get out of the bullets path fast enough.  
\- I’ll give him a fucking piece of my mind when he comes home, that idiot! I’ll… She fell silent, because nothing she would do to him would be worse than what was brewing up for him. Kris summed up the situation by saying she would have to wait until he was out of sick bay.

Below, the discussion had resumed.  
\- So, simple. If you win against my man, we’ll tie you to this post and I’ll whip you. At your first cry, my men will go after them. When my men come back with them, you will join them. And, since you are so handsome, maybe I’ll have some fun with you beforehand.

Kris blanched, Erk gulped.  
\- That’s a tough deal. Before I say yes, may I see your prisoners? I want to make sure they are worth it, you know. Since I am losing the deal anyway, might as well make sure, right?  
\- Sure. I would do the same in your shoes.

Erk let himself be taken to the prisoners. His brother and him knew that whoever the prisoners were, the Viking would accept the deal. Kris was biting his fist, enraged by his helplessness.  
\- Mark where the post is, he told us, we’ll go down to the road and up towards the fortress. Because once the prisoners are free, we’ll get that moron out of here.

Below, the giant crouched by the journalist still trying to cover herself. He took his jacket off, helped her put it on and zip it up. Then, under the guise of comforting her and slipping a lock of hair behind her head, he stuck his earpiece in place. Our headsets are autonomous at close range and only use our belt relay for long distances.  
\- My team is at the other end. Listen to Kris. He’ll tell what do you. Do you need healing? Are you hurt?  
\- I don’t, she replied, quivering, with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. But that man does.

Erk moved to the third prisoner. He had lost weight, he was unshaven, but the scar on his brow and his gray eyes, shining with fever, had not changed.  
\- Hi there, Fatso, he said, startling all of us who had known the second lieutenant. You’ve finally gone on your diet. You’re hurt?

Fatso didn’t know him, but he saw a savior and played along. He mentioned his arm, the bullet that lodged in it about a week earlier, while trying to escape, left untreated. Again, the Viking surprised us. We were moving silently back to the road, but whenever we could, we would steal a look to what was happening below. And the Viking… partially “healed” the wound. Kris told us later that he was born with the Gift of Healing. We just saw a light around the giant’s hands and heard Fatso sigh of relief.  
\- Kris? You must have heard the deal. I know you’re against it, but just follow it. Once you have the prisoners, get away as fast as possible. No heroic rescue, will you?  
\- Yeah, right, just count on it, moron, he mumbled, Kris, even if he knew his brother couldn’t hear him. If he thinks he’s the only one who can play hero, he’s in for a big surprise…

We were about 100m from the gate and remained perched off the road, amid rocks. We wanted to see what would happen next. Kris spoke to the journalist, instructing her to run down the road as soon as they were released. That is was of the highest importance. She ran her hand through her hair as he asked, to tell him that she had heard and she would obey.

The Viking went back to the SRH leader and said he accepted the deal.

I didn’t know that there still were people capable of sacrificing themselves for others.

_[Skítt : Icelandic : shit]_


	8. Chapter 8

The Viking took his t-shirt off, which he slipped into his belt, triggering a chorus of admiring whistles we could hear through his microphone. Well, they were well deserved, right? For fun, he struck a pose, showing off his bodybuilder musculature – even if he isn’t one. The guys whistled more and laughed. A few put their Kalash back on their shoulders. The sentries on the wall had turned their back on us, to watch the show. They would be the first to fall.

The giant’s antics had been carefully calculated to relax the SRH and make them less vigilant. So far, so good. The leader was coiling and uncoiling a long ox whip, reminding the Viking of the stakes of the fight.

The SRH had formed a circle around him, as an impromptu arena. It bothered him a little bit, because a wall, a real, hard one, can be a big help in a fight. He would have to do without.

Some ruckus announced the arrival of the SRH champion. He was already shirtless and had nothing to envy the giant for, except maybe 40cm. Same build, only smaller.

Erk took his stance, upright like for boxing, the other one sneered. The Viking’s face became very hard, expressionless and his gaze… like two blue laser bolts. His eyes are blue-violet, like the borage flower. Very poetic…

They circled each other, like two pit bulls ready to get at each other’s throat. Then the first blow landed and Erk stepped back, stumbling slightly. Damn, the champion was very good!

Erk caught himself, changed his stance, and let fly a perfect savate roundhouse kick. But not in the face, as the other expected. No, he hit the waist and sent the guy flying 4m away. He hit one of his mates, bounced back and ended up crouching, ready to go again. A real cat.

We could tell Erk wanted to end the bout as quickly as possible, but the champion was so good it was likely to take a long time. The giant wasn’t holding his blows, even less than with his brother. He was hitting to kill. So was the other one. Erk was mixing all styles of hand to hand combat: boxing, muay thai, krav-maga, savate, karate, fingers in the nose, hand to crotch, anything that would give him an advantage. Even tai chi, for dodging.

That day we discovered the true might of the Viking.

The fight went on a bit but the guys down there seemed to enjoy it.

Then, after a good 15 minutes – the fighters were drenched in sweat – the Viking’s fist connected hard with the solar plexus. The guy twisted aside just in time but still flew right in the legs of his pals. He coughed up blood as he stood up and had difficulties standing up straight.

And then he threw himself at Erk, knife in hand, given to him by the guy he had bumped into. Erk stepped aside and doubled over as the champion sliced him.

Kris swore.

The Viking straightened up, a long diagonal slash gracing his right side. He howled in rage, grabbed the other by his hair, broke his wrist to drop the blade from his hand and then, grabbing him by his neck and legs, turned him over and broke his back over his knee.  
\- Erik! No! Kris, horrified, muffled his scream in his hand.

The SRH were petrified.

The Viking picked the knife up and knelt beside the man on the ground. He said: “May God forgive your sins and welcome you in His paradise”, then he stuck the blade into the soft underside of his jaw, up into his brain, killing him. It was, as we would learn later, mercy killing. With his back broken, that man would be nothing more than a vegetable. The death Erk gave him had the merit of being glorious, in his eyes and those of his mates.

The giant stood up, apparently very calm, but Baby Jane saw, through the 720 SR’s scope, a single tear slide down the tall blond’s cheek.  
\- Is he crying for the death of that bloke?! she sounded surprised.  
\- Doesn’t surprise me, Kris replied, and there was also a tear down his cheek. He was weeping for the horrible thing his brother had to do after the other’s treachery, for he knew the giant would blame himself for losing his temper.

Below, the leader tried to usher Erk towards the whipping post, but the Viking reminded him of the terms of the deal.  
\- I’ll go to the post when they get through the gates. Not before.

Just before leaving the fortress, the journalist turned to him. He gave her a smile and a shooing gesture. She started running, turning around – and slowing down – often.  
\- Hurry the fuck up, Kris told her through the headset, come to us asap. The longer you dally, the more lashes he will get. For you.

We ran towards them.

In the fortress, Erk had gone to face the post, putting his hands on the sides. But the leader would have none of that and ordered his men to tie him to the post.  
\- You have my word that I won’t try and avoid the whipping, why tie me up? he asked as the guys looped a rope around his wrists, slipped it through the ring at the top of the 2m high pole and pulled to hang him up. Fortunately for him, the Viking was too tall.  
\- Because roumis can’t keep their word. And because I like seeing you tied up. I like it a lot, you know.

Erk shivered and the first strike fell.

We caught up with the prisoners, Erk’s first grunts in our ears. We ran for 500m, punctuated by the groans of pain the giant stifled behind clenched teeth. Kris couldn’t hold on much longer. He entrusted the ex-prisoners to Poll and Baby Jane, telling them to keep going at a brisk pace and dragged the rest of us at full tilt to the fortress.

We could hear, and the base heard them too, Erk’s grunts, but not the leader’s comments. Erk would tell us later they were sexual, the guy telling the Viking what he would do to him when his men got back with the prisoners. Horrified by the very graphic descriptions, he had shut him out, concentrating on the pain. It’s legit to think that the leader was giving himself a hard-on just with his imagination.

We arrived within range and let the EMA 7 do the talking for us, avoiding the post area. The sentries were the first to fall, their mates reacting by grabbing their Kalash and shooting anything that moved. The smartest ones, leader included, hid.

We took them by surprise so, apart from Erk who couldn’t move, we didn’t have a single injury. At the first shot, the Viking had crouched down as low as possible, hanging by the wrists, and the bullet had struck the right radial, the muscle on the forearm that makes a bump just before the elbow.

Kris cut the rope with a single knife stroke, Erk got up and we skedaddled as fast as we could, not going for more damage. We made ourselves the promise to come back.

We ran like rabbits, shooting behind us to make possible pursuers think twice about it. Erk was gritting his teeth and running with us, not slowing us down, while getting rid of the last bits of rope.  
\- I’ll take your skin, roumi! shrieked the leader.

We joined the rest of the team and continued to run, the Viking still shirtless, his T-shirt still slipped through his belt. He passed us, taking point, and we got a “good” look at his back. There were “only” eight of the long streaks that had bled, the others had “only” marked the skin. But well marked. His back was covered with red welts, some of which were starting to swell. The top of his trousers was stained scarlet, but he continued to guide us. He made a sharp right turn, climbed a path and brought us to a cave, the location of which he had spotted before we left the base.  
\- OK, we spend the night here, to rest. Wake-up call at 0300, we leave asap. Two men for sentry. Baby Jane, snipe. Find yourself a perch and shoot the bastards that show up. Some of them will. If there are too many of them, call for back-up.

The journalist gave him his earpiece back. He weighed it a moment, then stuck it behind his ear but turned it off with a little tap.

Poll said – through earpiece –Lin was mad as a hornet’s nest, that he had reassured her – via telepathy – that the entire team was coming, mission accomplished. He disconnected. His features were pinched, so Erk knelt in front of him to massage his temples and his hands were glowing a little again. Poll’s face relaxed and he gave a tired smile to the Viking.

Kris asked one of us to heat some water to wash his brother’s back, while the three ex-prisoners, exhausted from the run and their conditions of detention, lay down at the sandy back of the cave and fell asleep instantly. Poll did the same, with an apologetic smile. Curly took Lullaby as co-sentry.

Kris pulled his brother into the daylight and forced him to sit down. The Viking looked as worn out at the journalists and obeyed.  
\- Tito, Kris said, wake the wounded one, hand him some ibuprofen. He has a high fever. Look at his wound and see if you can clean and treat it a bit. Then see what you can warm up for us, we’ll have dinner in three hours. Archer, come help me. If Erik moves, knock him out.

Huh? What?  
\- Don’t worry, bro, I’m too tired to do anything else than let you treat me.  
\- You’d better, dolt, Kris replied, pulling out of his backpack sterile compresses, two tiny bottles, a small black leather case and a jar of honey.

I was finally going to find out the use for the kilos of honey in sick bay. Despite his harsh words to his brother, Kris was very delicate in cleaning his back. When he touched a particularly tender spot, the giant would hiss with pain, clenching his fist, and Kris would stop.  
\- You really are stupid, you know that? It’s fortunate I disobeyed you, hálfviti. Otherwise the other son of a bitch would be fucking you right now. Tell me, how would you have gotten out of it, if we hadn’t gone back for you? Would you have screamed, eventually? He would have had you anyway, you know?  
\- Kris, shut up and daub, would you? I know all of this and I don’t want to hear it again. I already had the Jiminy Cricket version, I don’t need yours.

Kris huffed in exasperation, dripping a little cistus essential oil over his brother’s wounds, including the shallow slash from the knife. Then he took some honey and smeared it over each of the wounds. He put a few drops of helichrysum EO on his finger and gently massaged each welt with it. Finally, he put the compresses on the wounds without unfolding them, took a very wide gauze bandage to wrap around his brother’s chest. Then he helped him put his shirt back on. Lucky me, I didn’t have to knock my senior officer out.

Out of the kit, Kris took out a pair of long tweezers and asked me to hold the Viking’s injured arm. He disinfected the tweezers with hydrogen peroxide. Erk closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.  
\- Sorry dummy, whispered Kris.

He searched the wound with the tweezers, eventually succeeding in extracting the bullet. A little hydrogen peroxide on the wound, it foams pinkish. Cistus again. Then three stitches with silk, Kris pulling out of the kit a pre-threaded needle. Real dexterous, that man. Honey again and gauze. Erk was pale and sweating. He leaned against his brother, who put an arm around his shoulders to comfort him.  
\- Kris, why cistus and honey? I asked.  
\- You know we are allergic to anything synthetic or artificial? Well cistus is hemostatic, honey is both antiseptic and help limit scarring. It will leave less marks on his baby skin.

And he gave his brother a little pat on the head.  
\- Erik, Lin has put some homemade morphine in the kit, if needed.  
\- No thanks, lil’ brother, I’m good. I’ll snooze a little until dinner.  
\- Need help?  
\- Why? You wanna tuck me in and give me a kiss?  
\- Dumbass!  
\- Love you too, Kris.

He shook his head as he put away his medical supplies, aware he has lost this round of their silly game, whatever it was.

We heard the roar of the Adlerauge, waking the sleepers. We all jumped out of our daydreaming. Erk threw himself on his EMA 7, which I had put next to him. He had already strapped his handgun on. We learn to always have it close by. I would even say that, in the event of night alert, before taking your trousers, you take your Behemoth.

Kris told Poll to stay with the three others and we joined the sentries. Lullaby and I went to where Baby Jane was perched and from there we shot the SRH full of arrows. Why the bow? Because, in these modern times when you tend use bullets to shoot a guy, seeing your pal fall down with an arrow through the throat is way more impressive. I wonder why…

Kris, Erk, Tito and Curly moved across the track and fired as soon as the SRH came in range.

Erk stopped quickly, one knee to the ground, pretending to shoot, continuing to point his gun. The surviving SRH scampered away, leaving the dead and wounded behind.  
\- Erik, are you OK? Kris asked as soon as the shooting stopped.

The others remained alert. The giant threw a thumb up and stood.  
\- Recoil hurts. Let’s see if some are still alive? Maybe we can take prisoners.  
\- OK. Tito, back to the cave. Archer and Baby Jane, stay in position. Curly, you go ahead, past the bodies and watch the road.

The brothers recovered our arrows, passed among the wounded. I saw Erk and Kris kneeling down to talk to a few seriously injured soldiers to whom they gave mercy. They closed their eyes afterwards. There was one, very young, almost a child, who was dying from a gut wound. Erk sat next to him, holding his hand, then took him in his arms, cradling him, rocking him gently while he was slowly expiring. And he just stayed there, crying softly over the dying child in his arms while his brother continued the triage.

He didn’t heal him. Because, in this war, you don’t spend energy healing an enemy. And because the child was already dead but didn’t know it yet. I hope this child was happy that someone, in his last moments, took such loving care of him.

We picked up two guys who could walk and headed back to the cave. Kris had shaken his brother up and the Lieutenants had lined the dead up the side of the track, covering their faces with their own keffiyehs.

That night, after dinner, the two brothers isolated themselves outside the cave, cutting off the mikes and earpieces. Shamelessly, having gotten sentry duty, I moved closer and listened.

The Viking told his brother of his horror when he realized he was at the mercy of the SRH leader, of his disgust when he broke the champion’s back, and of his immense grief when he had cradled the kid, killed by one of our bullets.

Kris comforted him. He reassured him by saying that he, Erik Hellason, was a good guy, despite the deaths on his conscience. That is was that endless war that wanted this and that is was changing people, for better or for worse. That he was just too kind for his own good.

* *

Erk’s health bulletin: stationary. No change, except the fever has gone down. He’s still out, still on morphine, still covered in bandages. We continue taking turns at his side. Kris has set up a cot in the room where his brother lies. He spends his nights here. His days too, when Doc or Nanny manage to knock him out with a sedative. Which is not easy, since his precognition tell him a syringe is aimed at his neck, and he can avoid it.

_[hálfviti : Icelandic : halfwit, idiot]_


	9. Chapter 9

At 0300, we had to wake the journalists up – easy – and the wounded. It was much harder.

We weren’t very nice to the SRH, but, damn, we didn’t care. It was Fatso and Erk who worried us. They both had a fever, of course. The giant woke up pretty quickly but he was muddled. When he saw that Fatso was not so well, he dragged himself over to him to try and heal him.  
\- Kris, I don’t have much hope for his arm.  
\- How’s that?  
\- I… the wound was never treated and it festered. I did what I could yesterday, but there is nothing I can do about… gangrene.  
\- Listen, Tito cleaned it up quite well yesterday and we’ll see what Doc can do. We’ll give him ibuprofen and one of these fucking sons of... their mothers will carry him. One of them is quite alert.  
\- We can’t entrust him to them, Kris, they’ll hurt him.  
\- No, they will answer with their lives for his well-being. Do you remember which essential oil for fever?

Erk’s teeth were chattering and he was sweating profusely.  
\- Wintergreen, I think.  
\- Thanks. Let’s hope I have some, he said, rummaging through his bag.

Now I understand why Erk was carrying his food. In his bag, there is a whole pharmacy for the Icelanders…  
\- Damn, no wintergreen.  
\- Ravintsara, then?  
\- Got this! Give me your wrists.

The adrenaline in his system had dropped while sleeping and his muscles had cooled and clenched. He had trouble reaching out with his injured right arm. Kris took his wrist, put two drops of EO on it, and massaged. He did the same to the left.  
\- Let’s hope it will help you.

Seeing him chattering, the journalist wanted to return his jacket but he refused, saying that he didn’t want to get blood on it. But in fact, it’s because, otherwise, the poor girl, half shirtless since the SRH had torn her clothes, would get cold and he couldn’t stand it.

He took his blanket and put it on his shoulders. Then he got up, picked Fatso up and walked out of the cave before we had a chance to react.  
\- Erik! Shit, stop!

Unstoppable, the Viking. Unstoppable and shivering with fever. Kris grabbed him by the collar, gave him a – light – kick in the crook of his knee to knock him off and stop him. Erk didn’t let go of his charge, but if his brother hadn’t caught him, he would have fallen face first.  
\- Stop it, moron. Tito, bring me one of the SRH.

The SRH in question believed that, because Tito was shorter than him, he could escape him. He quickly understood his mistake, his nose in the gravel and Tito’s boot on his ass. This guy speaking Dari, it was Curly who explained the deal to him: he would carry the injured, and each bruise to the man would be returned to him three times by him, Curly. He explained the same thing to the other one because they would take turns carrying Fatso.

Kris picked his brother up, put his left arm around his shoulders, and headed for the base. In the lead, Poll and Tito, then both SRH with the Lieutenant, Curly and Lullaby, the journalists, the brothers, Baby Jane and yours truly bringing up the rear.

We were going slower than going in, obviously. Between the laggard Viking, the journalists not used to this kind of rough going and the SRH carrying Fatso, we were about as fast as the proverbial snail.

For the night, we had – except the sentries – turned our earpieces off, Poll had disconnected himself from the radio waves and the telepath at base. Upon waking up, Kris had turned his back on and contacted the base.  
\- Lin?  
\- Kris? Sitrep!

At 4am, she sounded as smart as at 10am. Argh, how can she?

Kris reported in Icelandic, to avoid eavesdropping. I could see his eyes roaming frequently to his brother, who seemed to walk out of habit. Or maybe because it was fashionable. He was leaning heavily on his little brother and his eyes were barely open.  
\- Lin, do you have transport other than our feet?  
\- Why the question?  
\- Erik has a fever, he’s not fully operational. And he’s a heavy son of a gun. We found the second Lieutenant, who’s wounded and not operational at all. Plus two SRH, alert but not fast. And I don’t want to talk about the journalists.  
\- If you can hold on for one more day, I should get a Land-Rover tomorrow. We can pick you up once you’ve crossed the river.  
\- Can do, I think. I’ll take this opportunity to bring the dumbass’s fever down in it, it is so cold.  
\- I don’t want to take a bath with my clothes on, Erk mumbled. He had turned his headset on too.  
\- So, you’re alive! Lin exclaimed. And she started churning out a whole tirade in Icelandic, I guess, which he religiously listened to. He was tempted to turn his headset off, but his right hand refused him the favor.  
\- _Jà_ , Lin. _Jà._

Hop, brought to heel, the Viking! Not that I’m happy with it, but it felt weird to see this mountain of a man behaving sensibly.  
\- You got chewed out, dumbass.  
\- Yes, a little. But she wants me to continue playing knight errant…  
\- Wait? What? Kris said, surprised.  
\- Seems it would be a good example for the others…  
\- Seems it could be really bad for your health, _bróðir_.  
\- I’d agree with you, but you know how I am…  
\- That’s why I’m worried, you know. You look better…  
\- Yes, ravintsara did me good. I’d rather have had wintergreen, more effective, but this seems to work.  
\- Good.

We reached the river the day after, in the afternoon and forded it. Because of the erosion by the river when flooding, there are plenty of shelters at the foot of the cliffs along it. Not caves proper, more like recesses. We made our wounded lie down there. Erk looked a little better, but fell asleep as soon as he was down. Kris put a wet, cold cloth on his forehead, another on his neck, and did the same for Fatso. Ideally, there should have been a third one at the top of their thigh, where the big artery is, but we weren’t going to strip them in front of the others. We checked and redone the dressings, including those of our prisoners.

The journalist and her cameraman looked pretty embarrassed. I mean, they seemed glad to be out the claws of the SRH, but they would often look at the giant, with guilt in their eyes. So much the better! It’s been known for a long time that this forsaken corner of the world is not welcoming to non-locals, non-combatants, let alone women.

She came closer to the Viking, she wanted to help. Kris took advantage of his brother sleeping to piss her off.  
\- No, you’ve done enough for him as it is.  
\- But…  
\- If he is like that, it’s to save your sorry ass, so leave him alone!

She started glowering at him, he glared right back at her.  
\- Like all journalists, you wanted a Pulitzer, right? Well, you know what? You would have written your paper from the bottom of a soldier’s brothel! If they had given you time between johns for that! Or if their first “hugs” had left you alive!

She had turned all pale. The cameraman tried to come to her defense, but the Lieutenant’s steel-gray eyes silenced him. He was very harsh, his words meant to hurt – not to mention rude – and, actually, I get it. The journalist, her ass, her Pulitzer Prize, I don’t give a fuck. But my brother in arms, that’s important.

Dinner was tense.

Because the Land-Rover would come and get us the next day, we had some left-over rations. We gave one to the journalists – and one to the prisoners. They would have to manage. Lin can pamper them all she wants, those troublemakers, we were damn resentful.

Tito suggested to Kris that he would watch out for his brother and Fatso, so he could sleep. The Lt accepted the proposition. We let him sleep for the whole night, he was knackered. Baby Jane took over from Tito at some point.

I noticed gestures towards the Viking, from these two. I mean, when they refreshed the cloth, or when they touched his cheeks to get a feel for the fever, they did… tenderly. I was expecting that from Baby Jane. But Tito… I didn’t know he was batting for the other team… He saw I was looking at him – I was on duty – and he smiled at me. I was expecting a lot of things, but not that smile. I smiled back.

* *

The Viking has opened his eyes! Just long enough to make sure his brother was there, then he closed them back. Doc says it’s a good sign. We’re all feeling better.

_[bróðir : Icelandic : brother - Jà : Icelandic : yes]_


	10. Chapter 10

Lin was personally driving the Land-Rover pickup that reached our hideout the next day after lunch.

Tracks are narrow around here, and Lin didn’t want a Humvee, too wide. She chose a Land-Rover pickup, on the roof of which she had a M2 Browning machine gun mounted. The kind of big gun that makes the guy opposite think twice about shooting at us.

The pickup bed isn’t very big, but for now, uncrowded. Lin had the good notion of putting two mattresses in it. She had only one guy with her, a guy we called JD. He was standing in the back, gripping the M2 handles. Lin would have a sort of thing rigged behind that would allow the shooter to lean against so as not to fall down, without having to grab for the handles. In the meantime, we had to hope that shooting was an option and that just showing the big gun would be enough.

We had the two journalists climb in the front with Lin, laid our two wounded on the mattresses and hunkered around. Tito and Curly kept an eye on the SRH.

God, the tracks are so fucking bad here! Good thing Lin is such a good driver. But that didn’t stop Erk from moaning and sitting up suddenly. The pickup was buffeting him too much. His whole back hurt in one way or another and despite the mattress, he was suffering. Kris offered morphine again and because he’s stubborn, he said no, once more. That pissed Kris off and he threw him a punch to the chin and the giant folded, out for the count.  
\- Fucking stubborn ass! I don’t believe it!, the little brother said, carefully laying the Viking down, which is no mean feat considering his weight. Those two brothers are cute.

Baby Jane almost slapped Kris. She held back in time. I don’t know how the Viking does it but, right now, he’s vulnerable and we’re all suddenly overprotective. Even from his own brother.

We had been on the road for a while when Lin braked sharply and knocked on the rear window. Kris took the binoculars and took a gander forward, leaning on the pickup roof next to JD. We all looked out, EMA 7 at the ready.

On the road in front of us there were bikes and horses.  
\- It’s the Dotard! Kris said to Lin.  
\- You hit me, said Erk at that point in a thick voice.  
\- Later, bro, Kris replied, eyes still glued to the binocs.

Tito took the Viking’s hand – took full advantage of it, the rascal – to let him know that now was not the time. Erk looked surprised, then closed it and waited, Behemoth in his hand.

The Dotard, on horseback, decided to come to the Land-Rover, since Lin refused to move. They traded looks, murderous (!) for the Dotard, carefully indifferent for Lin, then the man continued to the back of the pickup. Lin started the pickup again, but he had had time to see the guns trained on him.

When we reached the bikes and horses, Lin flicked the pickup roof. JD heard and cocked the machine gun. The snap of the breech echoed in the canyon. We added a bit much by cocking the EMA 7. Re-snapping of breeches. The bikes moved away. Roar of the engine, the horses shied away. Lin drove on. Everything was fine.

Then one of the riders recognized one of the SRH when the truck passed him. He drew a handgun and shot a bullet through his head. We were sprayed with blood and brain. Lullaby reacted like lightning and killed the killer. Baby Jane managed to grab the reins of the horse. Like a proper English lady with good breeding.

Lin stopped dead.

She opened her door, unsheathed her Behemoth as she climbed out of the car, and shot at the Dotard’s horse, making the bullet ricochet on the shank of the horse bit. The horse reared and the old man had to deploy all he could to not drop.

They traded glances again, murderous on both sides this time.  
\- Whenever you want, _köne_! You know where to find me!

There was fear in the Dotard’s eyes. He made his horse turn and walked away slowly, so as not to lose face.  
\- Damn! We didn’t need that! Lin exclaimed. Then she immediately calmed down. Is everyone OK, in the back? No other damage? she asked looking at us. Erk was white as a sheet, in his brother’s arms, his hand clutching the tactical vest he wore, like the rest of us.  
\- _Skítt_! What’s wrong with him? Did he get hit?  
\- Maybe you could drive slowly, right? Kris was mad. It’s the pain.  
\- Give him morphine, then!

Silently, Kris lifted the injector and vial. Or rather what was left of it. When she had stopped, Kris, injector in hand because he had decided to give relief to his brother, was thrown against the truck cab, shattering the vial.  
\- Damn. He’ll have to wait until we reached base. OK, throw the body overboard. Baby Jane, what are you doing with that nag?  
\- Uh, sorry, reflex. Maybe we can exchange it at the village?  
\- Why not. Get on it and take point. How’s the Lieutenant?  
\- Still out, said Tito. I gave him ibuprofen. He seems to be doing better than the Viking…  
\- Not difficult, muttered Kris.

Lin gave him a look we couldn’t even start to understand, but he got it and stopped frowning. He almost smiled. In his arms, Erk was gradually relaxing, because the truck was still.  
\- Fine. I’ll try and take it easy. Stay on your toes, guys.

We stopped at the village, at the foot of our promontory, at the crossroads, where we exchange the horse for the promise of five sheep, which the villagers would bring us the next day, already butchered. Of course, we kept the weapons and ammo from the saddlebags, but we left the horse and its tack. In exchange for a _mechoui_ … We were already salivating…

We finally arrived home. The base. Home. It’d been so long since we’d been out of it that going back after a week’s absence was like coming home. A familiar place, with familiar smells. Familiar faces…

Erk insisted on walking to sick bay, unassisted, and, well, he looked better. Lin went with him while we went to wash up, because, after a week hiking, we didn’t smell as good as before. Obviously. In addition, we had had to run. We hadn’t really noticed, out in the open, but back here, with familiar smells in the nose, well… we reeked!

So, Nanny came to pick Fatso up, the SRH was taken to the bench and handcuffed there by JD, and Erk walked slowly towards the bay, on hand on Lin’s shoulder talking together. She apologized for being so abrupt behind the wheel and he seemed to forgive her. He was smiling. It felt good, seeing that smile. The Viking has the most charming and contagious smile I have ever seen… Proof: the SRH leader succumbed to it. A little too well, from what we heard.

I met Tito’s gaze and winked at him. He blushed. He he!

I told you we were in an old caravanserai. Really very old. The rooms were blind to the outside and all opened onto an exterior passage, under arches. It gave the impression of a monastery cloister, reinforced by the vegetable garden. Then you see the mast, the arena, the Land-Rover and, through the gate, the fortifications.

Sick bay is four rooms next to each other, and you go from one to the other through the cloister, except for the two at the end, which have a connecting door. There are three small rooms next to each other, then a bigger one. In the big one, we put six beds, it’s the hospital ward. Then it’s the examination room, with its stainless steel table, with channels, straight from a morgue. We still put a plastic mattress, to protect the injured from the cold. But a morgue table is so easy to clean…

Then, there’s Doc’s room, also her office, then, opening directly in her office, another sick room, where we put those who need a lot of calm. Or a lot of care. This is where the Viking sleeps, as I write. This is where Kris put his cot, as I write.

But on returning from this first mission, with his back like shredded meat, he slept in the big room. He’s never wanted special treatment, despite his rank.

Doc praised Kris’s treatment of his wounds, saying she had nothing to do except help him wash up. Then she blushed, because it looked like thinly disguised innuendo. The Viking laughed, saying it was good payback for the kiss he’d stolen from her when, at practice, she had wanted him to stop using his dislocated arm.

She let Nanny redo the dressing on his back, with honey again, and went to take care of Fatso. Lin, who had apparently nothing better to do, sent Nanny to help the medic and it seems she was the one who helped the giant wash up.

As for us, we went to the showers. You need to know that there had been, at the beginning of the 21st century, a rather incredible return of prudishness, which came to us from the US and from countries or cultures that demonize femininity and which, unfortunately, has spread like oil on water. And as for all fanaticism, once the tide had turned, there had been a blowback, a second liberation of morals. Not like we were rediscovering free love, homosexuality and all, like with the hippies. Just that prudishness seemed very silly and backward to us. In short, we showed our bodies without shame.

Oh, modesty still existed. But it was honest. And we respected it. With the exception of a few countries that are still backward-looking – not to mention religious-states like the US – our women could once again be topless at the beach without getting fines.

All that speech to say that, due to the lack of space at base, there was only one large bathroom, with eight showers, eight sinks. Generally, we do as in the Navy, onboard ships, we go with a towel around the waist and shower gel in hand. And Behemoth in the other. Seen as we are all quite muscled, by dint of moving earth, it makes for nice bodies to watch. We avoid lingering, though. But I have to admit that some of my brothers and sisters in arms were pretty easy on the eyes. Especially the giant and his brother.

We were quite happy to have the Viking with us at dinner. His feat had already been around the Company so we took it easy with friendly back slapping and the like. He was wearing a black silk yukata, embroidered with a magnificent red and gold western dragon on the back, and loose pajamas pants from the same material. He had let his hair down and its molten gold shimmer rivaled that of the silk…

Unlike us, he wouldn’t be on active duty for the next two days, and could afford to sleep in these beautiful pajamas. Most of the time, we sleep in T-shirt and underwear, so we only have to put pants and boots on to be ready for a night alert. This is a custom Lin established upon her arrival, after seeing us on the muster ground in briefs and nighties.

Erk, absolutely famished since he had barely eaten upon leaving the fortress, took advantage of Cook’s Provencal stew. Cook might be an American (ex-American, sorry), but he cooks like a god.

Like the Icelanders, Cook became French through the Foreign Legion. A poorly treated injury to his right arm prevents him from using a heavy weapon – like an EMA 7 – and is not very accurate with a Behemoth, but he is quite good at unarmed combat. And in the kitchen, he’s a genius! So, Mustard is the one doing the heavy lifting of pots and kettles, otherwise they end up on the floor and goodbye to the food! And, frankly, if you had tasted Cook’s Provencal stew, you’d be sorry to see it on the tiles.

Erk took two more helpings of this stew, perfectly soft, with tender and melting carrots and al dente pasta. Lin got some very good red wine out, we had a little party. It was fun.

It was the eye of the storm.

[ _köne : turkmen : old – mechoui : French, from Arabic : North african style spit-cooked mutton_ ]


	11. Chapter 11

To let you know nice Erk is, let me tell you about the journalist and the prisoner. Sounds like a fable, hey…

Once washed, dressed in his beautiful pajamas, the Viking went to sit next to the handcuffed SRH, on the ugly metal bench under the arches, and he healed him. It was both spontaneous and calculated.

Spontaneous because Erk, with the Gift of Healing, feels compelled to heal. Calculated, because in this war where you waste neither time nor energy – especially energy – healing the enemy, it was a way of showing that, like him, the roumis were human beings.

Tito told me of the astonishment and respect, laced with admiration, in the eyes of the SRH. You should know that where the Viking is, Tito is often is too, since this mission. I wonder why… Eh eh!

The journalist… She too started looking for the giant, supposedly to give him back his jacket. Lin ended up picking it up and laying it on his pad herself, depriving the reporter of any pretext. Even Lin is pissed off by the reporter. The two women had spent a while in the Captain’s office, what they told each other is unknown, especially since at time there was screaming in German (or Swiss German?) but after that, the reporter stopped running after the giant.

So, when Erk walked into the mess hall, in his nice pajamas – still can’t decide which of the two is handsomer: the pajamas or their wearer; kidding, of course – we wondered how he was going to react to the reporters.

What we knew is that Kris couldn’t stand her. But Erk had remained very professional with her.

So, on the night of Provencal stew, when he walked into the mess hall, all the women turned to him, even if, for Lin, it was more to see who was entering. She stopped talking for a while, though, and then resumed her discussion with Cook about the organization of the mechoui, which would happen after the journalists and prisoner left. A helicopter was coming to pick them up the next day, back to a French base, from where they would be sent back to Switzerland for the journalists, and to a place of treatment for the prisoner.

He came to our table, Baby Jane, Poll and Tito almost tripping each other to assist him, Kris cutting his meat when the pieces were too big. The reporters were with Lin, which may be why the brothers avoided her table that night.

Around the dessert, the Swiss lady came to see the Viking to ask for his forgiveness. And our giant, that sweet mountain of a man, accepted the apology and made room for her next to him, despite the face Kris made. That one hasn’t forgiven her for the suffering his brother went through on her behalf. Erk and the journalist exchanged a few words, then she stood up and Erk asked her if she had learned anything from her imprisonment.

She said: “No, I learned my lesson from your selflessness. Thank you.” She left.

That evening, after dessert, we all had a glass of wine liquor, in addition to the good red wine. The whole Company came to chat with the giant, spend a moment with him, wish him a good recovery.

It was the eye of the storm.

Two days later, bored out of his mind by inactivity, antsy, Erk asked to be back on duty. And I noticed that even though his healing gift doesn’t work on him, he seems to heal quickly. Of course, two days later, only the welts were gone, and the marks that had bled were still there, but he was on the road to recovery. What’s sure is that he would not be able to dig, nor practice our very vicious martial art which still has no name. There is a competition to name it, by the way.

So, Erk put his uniform back on, stored away his lovely silk pajamas, returned to the room he shares with his brother and decided to do the sentry rounds.

It’s a little thing our officers do just before dawn, when you can feel daybreak is coming, when the dew settles on everything, when everything is gray and tiredness is settling in.

So, that night, that morning, he put his boots on, his jacket, wrapped his keffiyeh around his neck – it’s getting quite chilly at night –, adjusted his belt and, helmet on his head, headed to Ops to report his doing the sentry rounds, and went out into the freezing wind that grazes our plateau at night. In the compound, the air was redolent with the mechoui’s smells carried on a strong wind which roared, tearing on the edges of stones, sounding like the moaning of an _efrit_ or a _djinn_.

Erk started his tour. He never finished it.

At sunrise, we had a missing man. The Viking. We toured the sentry posts, too, with Lin and Shorn. They all had seen him, chatted a little. He had told the last one he was going to see the first ditch, the one he dug on his own in anger.

We found Kris in Ops. They pinged the GPS beacons in the belts of the whole Company. Erk’s located him far from the base, just 100m from the north road.  
\- What’s the hell is that idiot doing here? Kris asked aloud.  
\- Let’s go ask him, Lin said, steel-voiced.

So we left, Shorn, Lin, Kris and I. When we reached the place where his beacon was, we found no one. No trace of anything. Lin called base who confirmed we were right on top of Erk’s beacon.

We all took a step back and looked at our feet. Nothing. No belt buckle on the ground, no GPS chip reflecting the light of the rising sun. Of the risen sun…

We looked at each other, Kris let out a moan as he dropped to his knees to dig with his hands. Lin immediately stopped him and asked base to send someone with a shovel. Kris was struggling, he wanted to dig at all costs. Lin had to use all of her strength to immobilize him. He ended crumpling in her arms, not daring to sob, not daring to believe what logic said had happened.  
\- Kris, I said, maybe it’s just his buckle, huh?  
\- Yes, he’s right, Shorn said, that must be it.  
\- You think so? Kris asked in a broken voice.  
\- Yeah, I said, that’s want I want to believe.

Lin was not saying anything, just holding him tight against her.  
\- It’s OK, Lin, you can let go of me.

He got up and waited for the shovel. JD brought it to us, along with a dog.

Yeah, we now have two large gray-pelted yellow-eyed Czechoslovakian wolfdogs, who came in with the Land-Rover. JD had had a good idea. The dog would be able to follow the Viking’s trail if necessary.

Now, if you’ve followed the story so far, you know the Viking is alive, albeit in bad shape. But, that morning, we didn’t know.

I can’t even start to describe Kris’s anguish – and ours –as he dug, very carefully, like an archaeologist, removed layer after thin layer of soil. And then…

And the, barely 15cm under the surface, we saw the tip of a brownish keffiyeh appear. Kris froze. So did we. We all held our breath. We feared what that piece of cloth we all had recognized was hiding.

He reached out with a quivering hand for the cloth, touched it, felt it, then, recovering, continued digging. The cloth was not hiding the giant’s lifeless body. But it was wrapped around his things: socks in the boots – with the knives still in them –, belt and holster – with the gun and extra magazine –, jacket, helmet, a silver medallion on a leather thong, his dog tags, the content of his pockets ( hair bands and pins, a tiny pewter figurine of a mounted knight, among others things)…

Our dog tags have only a lily and a number embossed on them. Mine is 43. Nobody knows the others’ numbers. Apart from Lin.

Kris took the medallion and the figurine in shaking hands. It looked like the most precious thing in the world, to him. He closed his fist on them then slipped them in the left pocket of his jacket. On his heart.

We all froze and JD, a good tracker, pulled us all back two steps and began to crisscross the area around the… cache – I was about to say the grave…

He raised his hand and called for Lin. He had found horse tracks, unshod, and one of them was heavily loaded.  
\- How heavily, JD?  
\- Hard to say. Let’s say the weight it is carrying is heavier than that of the other horses. Take the typical rider over here. 70kg of guy, 10kg of saddle and stuff… That one, he said, showing deeply marked (despite the dry spell) hoof prints, carried more. Now, I could measure the prints precisely and use the rule of three, but I don’t think I would err if I say that this horse was carrying a little over 100kg.

We traded looks. No difficulties here is guessing what was the nag carrying. JD reached into his pocket and pulled out some bright orange confetti.  
\- I found this a little higher, close to the ditch. They are Taser AFID tags.  
\- Oh shit! exclaimed Kris. He’s going to be pissed! If there’s one thing no to do to Erik, it’s to tase him.  
\- There also were strange tracks near where I found them. If you want to come and see, Lin.

We followed him, he made a detour and took us to where he’d found the tracks. Kris was carrying his brother’s things.  
\- I’m not too bad at tracking, and here I can tell tell you that here someone was pinned down and struggled or moved about. But these traces, here, they stump me.

The traces he showed were both regular and half erased. Their pattern tickled my memory, but it was Kris who identified them first.  
\- It’s a net.

We all looked at him stupidly. A net, here? Where there’s no fish? He must have seen our questions, because he traced the obvious signs with his finger.  
\- That may come as a surprise to you, he continued, but you can use a net for anything other than fishing, you know. For example, between two galloping horse, to catch a fugitive, or carry a load… I’m not saying this is what happened, I’m just giving you examples.  
\- OK, Kris, what do you think about it? Lin asked.  
\- JD, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think they threw a net on Erik, weighted – and he pointed out hollows that could be weight marks – and then he was tased to quiet him.  
\- So far, l’d say that’s correct, approved JD. After that, I think they stripped him, moved away to bury his stuff and load him onto the horse. Then they left.  
\- There’s one thing I don’t get, said Shorn. Why leave his dog tags, his weapons?

Lin thought about it, no doubt on how much she could tell us.  
\- European weapons, including EMA’s, all have GPS chips with their serial number. It allows to, in our procedural world, say who owned the weapon that was at a crime scene. The chip can’t be removed, it’s embedded into the matter of the weapon. A copper wire, in the metal, wraps around the barrel and serves as an antenna. It is a passive system, RFID type, but improved. The chip can be jammed, but it takes technology they don’t have.  
\- So they did everything to not be located, said Shorn. Buy why leave the knives? The tags?  
\- No idea, answered Lin, a bit quickly. OK, back to base, we need to think about it.  
\- But… the dog? Tracks?  
\- Kris, have the dog smell the scent of the horse, but I doubt we can follow Erik. Either way, we have to get organized and think about it.

Breakfast was not the usual cheerful affair that morning. Etat-major meeting while eating – EM in Blood Lily Company is Lin, the brothers, the sergeants and, sometimes, us corporals – then briefing with everyone.  
\- The first thing to do is find out who took him and therefore where he is.  
\- Could it be the “Guns & Roses&? Curly asked.  
\- Huh? Kris said cleverly.  
\- You know, the free fighting squad…  
\- Oh, the “Roses & Rifles”! Kris said. You got confused with the very old rock band.  
\- A priori no, said Lin. I get along pretty well with them and we didn’t deserve their intervention. And we would have found a rose in his keffiyeh.  
\- The Dotard, Lullaby suggested.  
\- Honestly, I don’t think so. He’s scared, Lin said.  
\- But the provocation, the other day?  
\- Provocation, precisely. Just to not lose face. I’ll be trivial, but he doesn’t have the balls for that. He’s easily 60, had to find for a long time to carve out his little piece of paradise and now he’s doing everything he can to preserve it.

They continue chatting and then, all of a sudden, I remembered a little sentence, screamed at our departing back.  
\- It’s the SRH, I said, very sure of myself.  
\- What do you mean? Kris asked, chomping at the bit, wedged between Lin and Shorn.  
\- When we pulled out after picking Erk up, the chief screamed he would have his skin.

“And maybe even his ass”, I thought, seeing as the Viking had caught the chief’s eye.  
\- Your idea doesn’t seem too far-fetched, Tito said. However, given what we’ve heard, I’m not sure he’s only after his skin, he added, a reflection of my thoughts.

Kris blanched, again. Like the last time. He tried to get up, but Lin put her hand on his shoulder and made him sat down. She’s very strong.  
\- Now that we think we know who has him, do we know if the SRH have another hideout?  
\- Fortunately for us, no. However, it is only accessible on foot, horse or motorbike, replied Curly.  
\- We can at least drive to the river, it only takes 3 to 4 hours and will save us two days walking.  
\- Lin, asked Baby Jane, why don’t we have horses, to move faster?  
\- Because there’s no room to house them, nor the means to feed them. I’m already having trouble fitting all of you, and you sleep six to a room… On the other hands, motorcycles… We’ll have to wait for the next mission.  
\- It would be nice if we stopped yammering and started going for him, Kris suddenly said. Time goes by and who know what…  
\- Listen, Kris, Lin replied, going head first is never a good idea. We know he’s alive and we know he’ll stay that way for a while if the SRH want revenge. They will make the pleasure last. They’re vicious, remember the briefing.  
\- Exactly!  
\- He’s a big boy and a badass…  
\- He’s not a badass. He’s a big teddy bear… But if what Tito said is true, and given the comments the chief made whipping him, I would tend to believe it… You know you don’t really get over that sort of thing…

Lin’s smile turned very king, very sweet, and she put an arm around the younger brother’s shoulders.  
\- I know, _litla mín_ , I know. That’ why I am praying so hard it doesn’t happen. And that’s why we have to go there being super prepared. Tell me, if the other guy is using Erik as a shield to get out of the situation, what will you do? Will you be able to shoot your brother to take the asshole’s shield off?

Kris shook his head.  
\- Good. So, we get the truck ready, pack it with Viking medical gear, a mattress, blankets. Get ready for guerrilla. I want to see you with machetes and shotguns. I want this to be dirty. But not missile-launcher dirty, that’d be dangerous for Erik. Explosives, to destroy this nest of vipers afterwards. They just made it to my blacklist.

She took a deep breath and went on.  
\- Not because they picked on Erik in particular, although that tips the scales. Because they attacked one of us. And that, ladies and gentlemen, in unacceptable.

One of us, she said. And yet the Icelanders have been here for a very short time, two, three months max… One of us… It’s good to be a brother in arms to these three.

* *

I don’t know what’s the relationship between the three Icelanders, but there is a bond that dates back a long time. I don’t know what _litla mín_ means, but Lin’s gesture was affectionate.

[ _litla mín : Icelandic : my little one_ ]


	12. Chapter 12

Now, telling the tale is becoming difficult. Because what the Viking went through is hard to talk about. I’m looking for words, for polite words, sometimes, but more often what comes are the other words. And I remember his gaze getting lost in himself, the pain in his voice, hoarse from screaming.

Because, yes, the Viking is awake and, like a good little soldier, he wanted to report asap. Lin, Kris and I were there. I was trying to take notes, but sometimes just couldn’t. And, at times, I had the impression of having a robot in front of me, because Erk spoke in a monotonous voice, without inflection, until the pain would catch up with him and Kris would take the injector and dose him with morphine, against his will. But the giant didn’t really have the strength to refuse. Neither the desire, I thought. The little brother can’t bear the pain of the big one. I think I’d be the same.

Of course, we had gone looking for him as quickly as possible, in the Land-Rover, with the SRH fortress as objective, hoping with all our hearts that we weren’t wrong.

At the river, back luck, there had been a big storm in the mountains during the night, it had swelled and the ford had disappeared under almost a meter of water. Not to mention the strong swift current. It was high noon. Lin, who drove us here, had to go back to base, as she couldn’t leave the truck, even camouflaged, nor could she camp alone in the mountains, too dangerous.

We didn’t hesitate much to cross. One of us, rope around his waist and guns in the air, carefully crossed the river. Then he anchored us with the help of a boulder and we followed.

Same team as the first time, since we knew the way, plus JD and the dog. It was the one enjoying the crossing the most.

We trotted for as long as possible. Kris was possessed, there’s no other word. He ran like a wolf, with a long-legged lope that allows him to cover a lot of ground. He took pity on us, gave us a 2-hours break. I think he’s the only one who didn’t sleep. He took sentry duty on his own. We collapsed in a heap on the ground and slept like that. Of course we were stiff as two pokers when we woke up, but we didn’t say anything, just downed granola bars and orange juice and off we went.

The dog, Yaka, a female, started tugging on her leash a bit before we got to the fortress, but we were all so focused on our goal that we didn’t really pay attention.

We reached our goal around noon the day after our departure. We’d been fucking fast, goaded on by the urgency. And by Kris.

No sentries. Not a sound.

And then, a sound. We all jumped up. We saw a jackal come out of the fortress, blood on its muzzle. It looked at us, licking its chops and then quietly went away.

We exchanged stares. If the beast roamed freely in the fortress, that would mean there was no longer anyone alive in there. And the blood…

We went in, following the scavenger’s tracks. There were others, it hadn’t been the only one to feast. They took us to a basement room, where the smell of blood, shit and something indefinable lingered.

Whining, Yaka refused to enter the room, so we started to fear for the worst. We walked through the door. And we came out right away, heaving out our granola bars.

There were about twenty lifeless bodies, none dressed in the Company’s sand-colored fatigues. Some sported slashes from the saber found at the foot of the steps, others had a broken neck, still others had no visible injuries, but Kris told us it was a hit of our martial art, which we hadn’t learned et. A lightning blow to the plexus, stopping the heart.

There are other details, grimaces of terror on faces, some… I have no words. Just impressions, and I can’t write them down on paper, these impressions. Sometimes at night I dream about these and I wake up, my heartbeats at 150 and drenched in sweat.  
\- Hold on a sec! You mean to say that Erk was the one who killed them all?! exclaimed Baby Jane, incredulous.

Kris, pale as death, one tear on his cheek, nodded. We searched the room. The ground was covered in congealed blood. From the corpses, fat flies would rise lazily, too well fed.

We found a wooden chair, in pieces, bits of rope, a very sharp knife with red on its point, a beautiful dagger with an eagle head as a pommel. We found the chief, disemboweled. Coincidence or not? Would we know, one day?

Kris recovered, sent us, two by two, to check that the fortress was empty and, if so, to lay explosives. After taking every valuable that was easily transportable: gold (teeth, jewelry…), cash (still in use around here), that sort of thing. No money, no war…

Not a single living soul. It would seem that the SRH that survived our first visit had all gathered in this room. Why? To see the torturing of the giant? To participate in it?

We set the explosives and detonated them. It all blew up. There wasn’t a single section of wall standing up and the basements were filled with rubble.

We left, hearts heavy with grief. No sign of Erk in the fortress. And then Yaka, nose to the ground for a while, unnoticed by us, pulled on her leash, knocking JD off balance. As he complained, she barked. And suddenly we remembered why we had taken one of the wolfdogs with us. After discovering the carnage, we had stopped thinking properly.

We followed the dog who looked at us as if to say: “Finally they’re listening”. She set off at full speed, on a goat trail, nose to the ground again, pulling JD by her leash. She’d been given Erk’s pillowcase, redolent with his scent, to smell before leaving, and Kris carried it in a zip-loc bag.

We found the Viking slumped on his side at the edge of the track, his feet bloody, barely conscious, incoherent with fever. The dog was pushing at him with her nose. The first thing we noticed was the back of his t-shirt and seat on his pants, bloodied. Tito and I looked at each other, dreading. We all rushed to him.

The front of his shirt was even more soaked. He had taken punches to the face, on the left, his brow had been bleeding, his cheekbone opened like a too ripe fruit, his lip split and he had a slash running from the corner of his eye to that of his mouth.

He almost knocked Kris out when Kris took him in his arms. In his right fist he was clutching a stone with a few yellowish hairs stuck by blood. Had he had to defend himself from the scavengers?

Kris whispered in Icelandic and he gradually calmed down. He gave him a little water, using the rest of his canteen to clean his face a little. The damage was impressive, but repairable. The Viking would keep little trace of the blows. At least, physically.

Our giant was obviously shaken. He was trembling and, when Kris lifted his torso up a little, he tried to suppress a moan.  
\- Where? asked the Lieutenant.  
\- Back… shoulder… belly… my…

Erk shut up, buried his face in his brother’s shirt, shoulders shaking… with sobs? The brothers whispered in Icelandic, again, there was a noise or two that, under other circumstances, might have been strained laughter. Kris took the small figurine out of his breast pocket, showed it to Erk and put it in his good hand. The giant’s fist closed over it.

Kris ordered us to get the “folding stretcher” out and he laid his brother on it. He cried out and passed out. The folding stretcher is just a very thick woolen blanket with six reinforced handles on the long sides.

We covered the Viking, whose bloody feet protruded from the stretcher, with a pair of blankets, Kris wedged his own keffiyeh against Erk’s cheek, near his nose. Then we took the handles and trotted off, backtracking on the goat trail then the trail we were starting to know so well. The two women watched the path, we watched the wounded man.

We learned, while waiting for Lin by the river, why Kris had put his keffiyeh against his brother’s cheek. When they were kids they slept in the same room and on stormy nights Erk, who at the time was afraid of them, would snuggle up to his brother. Later, when sick, restless, hurt, his brother’s smell would always calm, sooth him. The dried-blood colored keffiyeh carried the scent of Kris.

Crossing the flooded river again was a bit complicated, the blanket had to be lifted as high as possible so as not to get Erk wet, without being carried away by the current. In the end, the 110kg of the Viking were a boon, served to weigh us down. The girls were the ones who had some trouble.

We didn’t wait too long for Lin, Poll had warned her as soon as we found Erk and she arrived quickly. When she saw her Lieutenant’s condition, her face darkened, then she turned stony-faced. Impressive.

While waiting for her arrival, Kris had treated Erk’s feet. He had washed them, sprinkled cistus, spread honey on them and swaddled them in gauze. Again, it was more impressive than serious. He had suffered these injuries while running barefoot on the rocks. Nothing worse. For his shoulder, Kris had made a quick compression bandage to soak up the blood, again dribbling cistus on the wound to limit bleeding.

When we laid him on the mattress in the truck, Erk woke up, refused morphine, again. He told us, between gasps of pain, that as long as we weren’t back at base, he wanted to see where he was, to be able to defend himself. To which Kris replied that he couldn’t even hit a target the way he was shaking. Kris had made himself comfortable, his brother in his arms, rocking him gently, reassuring him.

It was really weird to see this man, this giant, like a child in the arms of an adult. He had nestled his face in his brother’s neck and refused to meet our eyes.

Again Tito and I looked at each other. We both knew what went through our heads, based on the chief’s crush on the Viking.

We met the Dotard again. This time, Lin didn’t even slow down. She took her enormous .44 Magnum and, with her left hand, through the window, fired at the riders – horses and bikes – who were blocking our way.

There was a dust plume at the feet of the Dotard’s poor nag. Pure dumb luck. The horse reared again, the Dotard’s tried not to fall and lose face again. The guys opposite moved away. None wanted to mess with that raving madwoman who fired a .44 Magnum one-handed.

She swore fit to peel the paint off the truck and resumed driving. One-handed. Shooting a .44 with one hand is just crazy. She would wear a small brace on her left wrist for a while.

And that’s how we brought Erk back to base. All messed up for the second time. He insisted on walking to sick bay but soon collapsed, complaining about the friction, whatever that was. Nanny came to lend a hand to Kris.

That’s how we saw him dashing out of the little room, in his birthday suit, refusing for the little doctor to treat him until Lin knocked him out.

That’s how we saw Kris come out of the room later, as white as the sheets he had laid his brother in and quieter than a Trappist monk fresh out of taking his vows.

He went to report to Lin, who had prepared a punitive expedition that was no longer needed, and then returned to watch over his brother.

Doc also went to report to Lin.

Now, here is the Viking’s tale.


	13. Chapter 13

Erk was sedately going on his sentries patrol and had just left the last one, approached “his” ditch and had a look. In a middle of the ditch, he had left a path about 3m wide, to allow passage of the Land-Rover, among others.

He was thinking about having to dig a little deeper in the west part when he felt a weighed net on his back – not enough to stop him. He was getting out of it when bolas wrapped around his ankles, knocking him to the ground at the edge of the ditch, tangled in the net.

And then his body has been shaken by a Taser shot. His teeth clicked shut, he almost bit his tongue. As shock took control of his limbs away from him, he was stripped of everything but pants and t-shirt. His socks were taken off too. In these mountains, it’s not good to walk barefoot…

As he had started to overcome the effects of the Taser, he got a second one. Then they tied him up with thick hemp rope and put him on a horse, across like a sack of potatoes, face down. He pitied the horse. Typical Viking.

He doesn’t really remember the trip, except that his back started hurting again, he felt the wounds reopening, and traveling upside down with something bumping into your stomach is puke inducing. Literally. Before losing consciousness, he figured his vomit would make a good landmark for the wolfdog. During his two days of rest, he had made friends with the beasts, Alpha and Yaka. Alpha is a big strong male, Yaka a female, slimmer and definitely more intelligent. Their fur is gray-yellow, adapted to the landscapes here, and they have an excellent nose.

He had gone from unconsciousness to sleep when the sound of hooves under the arch of the fortress’s gate woke him up. That, and a hand that patted his behind. And since he’s 200% straight, the shock woke him up!

The lack of shadows on the ground told him it was around noon. At that time, we were crossing the river.

They threw him off the horse, which gave a big sigh of relief, he said. Without untying him, the SRH dragged him – 110kg of man, I hope as hell it made them sweat! – to a room in the basement, barely lit by electric lamps on batteries. They sat him up a bit roughly on a wooden chair. Without securing him better.

The guys were speaking Dari, which Erk doesn’t understand. They gestured with their hands, pointed at him, then a blow flew, straight for this stomach. Bending forward to cushion the blow, he clenched his abs which took the blow. More punches followed, all to his stomach. He has steel abs, which is why, despite the beating, and apart from his liver which was a little messed up – nothing serious – he has no other internal damage. However, his whole belly is just one single bruise, which Doc and Kris treated with helichrysum essential oil, a real miracle maker for contusions.

Then the baddies took a break. He took advantage of it. He threw himself back, taking the chair with him, rolled back, had time to put his wrists in front of him which, with his bodybuilder physique, is no mean feat. To do so, he dislocated the shoulder his brother had already roughed up. In the boot of a guy behind him, he grabbed a beautiful eagle-headed dagger, and severed his ties with it.

The dudes were so surprised that a guy who had taken so many punches could move so much and so fast that they were petrified, not reacting. It was the adrenaline that kept him going.

And then, dagger in hand, he threw himself into the fray, with the sole purpose of reaching the door and getting out of there. He told us that at that point he was hitting only with the hilt of the dagger, he just wanted to open a passage.

He had reached the foot of the stairs when he heard a loud bang and found himself on all fours, excruciating pain blossoming in his left shoulder, the dislocated one, just below the collarbone. In the few seconds that followed, the still able-bodied guys jumped on him and, on an order from the chief, pinned him to the ground, face down. One of them grabbed his hair and pulled to block his head. Then, silence.

It was so quiet he heard the footsteps of the chief slowly going down the stairs, saber at his belt, a smoking .38 Special in hand.  
\- I told you you would be mine, _roumi_ , he said in a soft voice and kneeled down.

He stroked his face, on which a bruise was blooming. He ran his thumb over the tall blond’s lips.  
\- Tss, tss, your so beautiful face.

[It’s weird to hear the chief’s words said in Erk’s monotonous voice, but you can imagine that his voice was quite caressing, considering the words.]  
\- Fortunately, a bruise disappears quickly, with a little ice and a lot of tender loving care.

The chief’s hand left the cheek and, very slowly, went all the way down to the giant’s bottom. He tensed up. Prolonged caressing of his curves. He ground his teeth. He was sweating, and it wasn’t just from the pain, either of his shoulder or stomach.

Then the chief drew a knife with ultra sharp point and edge. He showed it to the Viking, pricking his finger to show him how sharp the weapon was.  
\- Spread his legs. He spoke in Dari then English, to make sure his prisoner understood.

“No, not that”, Erk thought, completely panicked. He squeezed his legs together as hard as he could, but a prick from the knife just above the knee made him fold. He ended up with his legs spread wide on the earthen floor, with a blackened stomach and a shoulder pierced by a .38 Special bullet. And a knife-wielding maniac with direct access to his family jewels.  
\- I wanted you in my bed, but given your power and strength, I’ll geld you first, it’ll calm you down [not true, doesn’t work on us humans]. I’m going to make it last, to make you pay for the death of my men. Centimeter after centimeter…

Erk felt the cloth pressing on his skin and then a sting just behind his balls. Pain, surprise, paralyzed him. Some of the guys relaxed their hold on him.

The bastard showed him his own blood on the tip of the blade.

The Viking lost all control.

Despite the pain, despite the weight of the others, he heaved and stood up, sending the men flying about the room and, with his right hand, with what he found, he killed.

He twisted necks, punches plexuses, tore his saber from the chief to disembowel him and then slash at anything that moved in his field of vision. His left hand, unusable, had curved like talons, his eyes were completely crazed. His mouth wide open in a grimace of hatred, he bared his teeth. He was screaming in rage. He was crying.

Despite the blows to the face, or because of them, his rage burned bright. That is what enabled him to eradicate the SRH. Yes, I did say eradicate.

He came to his senses to the smell of blood and emptied guts. He stumbled away, the blood of the others on his feet absorbed by the dust of the courtyard, his tracks would be blurred by those of the scavengers.

Not knowing if he had any pursuers, he decided to take the first opportunity to get off the track.

His shoulder, his back, his stomach, all of that was nothing compared to the friction of his boxer-shorts on the tiny wound. Eventually he collapsed where we found him, bleeding. He laid there for a little more than 24 hours. He had fallen on his left side, bending his injured shoulder and, strangely, slowing the bleeding. Bothered by jackals who thought him dead, he had punched them away with a stone. If he hadn’t been that force of nature that he is, he might have met his end there.

* *

Doc reassured us, the cut is superficial, only the skin has been damaged. The Viking still has the possibility to pass on his (very good) genes. Other physical damage will subside relatively quickly.

Kris told us that the rage that helped his brother free himself was akin to the berserker rage the Vikings of old could achieve.

But what worried us the most was the impact these murders, this horror, would have on his psyche.

The tears, the refusal to meet our eyes in the pickup, it was shame. Shame of his injury, on this attack to his virility… Shame of his actions.

The monotonous voice, without inflection, to tell all this to Lin, hides a distancing that is very bad. Erk needs to talk about his ordeals. Will he be strong enough to overcome this trauma?

We hope so. We hope so with all our hearts.

I like him, this guy. He is nice. He’s a happy dude… I miss his smile.

Oh, the lump in my stomach is back.

Shoot, I am crying and my tears are falling on the paper.

Good thing I write with a ball-pen.


	14. Chapter 14

Like is slowly returning to normal at base, now that the Viking has awakened.

I don’t mean to say we stopped living, just that he was at the forefront of our thoughts most of the time. The one most bothered was Lin. She no longer had a Lieutenant available. To tear Kris off his brother’s side, she had to threaten to throw him in the pit until Erk was up and running again – which might take quite some time. The deal, in the end, was that Kris would take care of him at mealtime and resume his Lieutenant duties the rest of the time.

Speaking of Lieutenants, Fatso lost his arm. Doc did all she could to save it, but the wound was too old when Erk had tried to heal it and gangrene had set in. Despite modern medical techniques, it was impossible to save his arm.

Lin then told him about his conviction by the ECHR. She offered him to stay in the Company as an orderly, secretary, admin, accountant. He looked at his arm, she smiled. She also offered him a prosthesis. Since it is expensive, she told him he would get a basic one, and would have to earn the upgrades.

He didn’t think about it. He said yes. Erk had kept him company, before being kidnapped and screwed up by the SRH, and Fatso had fallen under the charm of the Viking.  
\- He’s our best ambassador, she said with a smile. Then it wilted. She was sad again.  
\- What’s the matter, Lin? Fatso asked.  
\- Nothing of concern to you, rest.  
\- A thousand apologies, Captain, but as your orderly, it’s my duty to make sure you are all right.

She looked at him blankly, then smirked.  
\- Damn, I’ll have to review my proposal.  
\- I hope not, Lin. I… I never had the courage to stand up to the two scumbags that commanded this Company before you arrived. But there are some good people here, and, if you want, I’d like to continue this adventure.

She considered him for a long time, then decided to trust him. She told him everything. Absolutely everything. Including the massacre. She expressed her fears regarding the mental damage to her compatriot.  
\- I think if you speak about it with Everett, the cook… What’s his nickname?  
\- Cook.  
\- Of course. He could help, you know, he was a shrink before he left the US.  
\- Really?  
\- Really. Go talk to him.

But Cook had beaten them to it. The day after Erk reported, Cook intercepted Kris in the mess hall and pulled him aside. With three words he caused the Icelander to completely collapse and spill the beans. He had gently taken Erk’s lunch from his hands, sat him in his tiny office, and let him talk. And he had offered a deal. He would go to the Viking at lunchtime and make him eat while having a shrink session. Kris agreed, so vital to him was the need to see his brother healthy again. And missing a meal with his brother was nothing, next to that.

This is how our cook, at the end of the service, would prepare a special meal for the Viking, carefully choosing the dish and dessert to please the palate of the wounded man while being easily assimilated by his tired body. Doc and him worked on it. We got to enjoy the fruits of that cooperation, sometimes. Especially soups. And desserts! Fruit mousses on biscuit or sponge cake, things that were all sweetness, melting on the tongue… I digress…

During these sessions, Cook sometimes would spend his entire afternoon with Erk, even staying during dinner’s preparation. Lin would say nothing, Ketchup and Mustard would manage and the giant slowly came back. Cook and him would develop a strange relationship, which would see them sitting side by side in friendly silence, sipping a cold beer under the caravanserai arcades.

Our friend Cook has a Gift, other than knowing how to listen and how to, in three words, ask the right question. He has a very very light Healing gift, which he uses on the many cuts his two helpers incurre daily. He would use it to help the Viking heal a little better. Thanks to him, Erk would only have a very thin scar on his face, thinner than a hair, from his left eye to the left corner of his mouth, and which would only be visible when he blushed – which happens regularly. On his back, there wouldn’t be a single mark left.

Alas, on the left shoulder, dislocated then pierced, he would keep the scar of the .38 Special bullet for a long long time. As for the tiny scar that never saw the light of day, only his mistresses could tell us if it was still there…

* *

Now, I need to backtrack a bit. It’s been almost a week since we brought the messed-up Viking back home.

Before his kidnapping, while he was taking it easy in the sick bay, Lin had a received a wanted bulletin in her mailbox, concerning one of her men. So, obviously, since we are all under an arrest warrant from the ECHR, that was to be expected. Except that…

Except that the bulletin was about a guy with a German name, a certain Kurt Hartsollen, who was the spitting image of a certain Kristleifur Hellason, Lt of the Blood Lily Company. With, in addition, the same initials…

Well, spitting image if you don’t know him that well, like us. For Lin, this was not the same person. But for the others, he could very well be him… After all, we know nothing about the brothers before they arrived here… Well, yes, it’s him… but no, can’t be… but yes, he is…

Let’s say Radio Gossip went on full blast with bullshit and speculation those days. Lin has warned Kris anyway, so he would know. And then… And then the Viking was kidnapped and we had something else on our plates.

And then, yesterday, a guy on a motorcycle asked to enter the base, claiming to be sent by Interpol. We thanked the Viking for digging the first ditch out of anger, since it was far enough from base that the guy couldn’t see the details.

We stopped him and contacted the Ops room. Lin sent Curly to get the dude’s ID, who stayed on his bike waiting for Lin to verify. Curly had it quickly scanned and sent to Lin via a short-range transmission system, which only works on the promontory.

The ID checked out, so we let him in. Of course, he didn’t go by himself. He was made to walk, blindfolded, while Stig, one of the two corporals under Kris, rode the bike. It’s a beautiful black Kawasaki, a Ninja 1200 SX. Not very suitable for the tracks of our remote province, but a very nice ride. Powerful, fast, sleek and elegant. Not as good as a Harley-Davidson or Indian Motorcycles, but badass enough as a bike. Anyway, some of us drooled.

The dude, by the name of Lars Sanchez, looked pretty cool, too. Black leather outfit, vintage bike helmet, chunky bike boots, Ray Ban Aviators with a mirror finish… He was going the whole nine yards for the biker bad boy image, but it’s OK, with such a ride… And good looking too. Well, he wasn’t even playing in the same league as Kris, let alone the Viking. But then Erk is drop-dead gorgeous.

He tried to use his charm on Lin, but the Blood Lily didn’t fall for it. With the brothers around, the rider didn’t stand a chance with her anyway.

And then, over Lin’s shoulder, he saw the only one of our Lts still standing, Kris. His brown eyes fixed on him.  
\- He’s the one I’m coming for, he told Lin.

She turned slowly, followed Kris with her eyes as he left the sick bay.  
\- I don’t think so, she said in a vaguely insulting drawl.

He put his hand on his gun, she turned slightly to show him her .44 Magnum, he put his hand back on his belt buckle.  
\- Still, it’s Kurt Hartsollen, he’s wanted for manslaughter and I have to bring him back to Berlin.  
\- He looks like Hartsollen – I saw the bulletin – but he’s not Hartsollen.  
\- You’re protecting one of your men, that’s okay.  
\- I’m not protecting anyone, since Hartsollen in not one of mine.  
\- But, come on, he’s right in front of me!

Lin’s face turned to stone, just like when the big brother was found.  
\- The man you are looking for is not here. I will give you hospitality for the night. You will be gone tomorrow morning after breakfast. Alone.  
\- Look, I have bona fide orders from Interpol to bring this man back, Sanchez said, pointing to Kris who had stopped and was looking at them, and I will.  
\- No. Final word.  
\- You are obstructing justice.  
\- Justice?! You, talk to me about justice?!

Lin was speaking loudly now. She was angry. She took her shades off and stared at the bounty hunter – cos that’s what he was, indeed –. He ignored the anger burning in the coal black eyes. He started acting like a macho and tried to walk towards Kris, past Lin who was between them.

Her right hand came out and she pinched his Adam’s apple between her thumb and her forefinger. He froze, white as a sheet. He was still breathing, but his face was twisted in a grimace of pain quite funny for us onlookers.

Kris was laughing.  
\- You’re out of shape, Lin. Usually, you go straight for the balls.

With his gymnast stride, full of grace and poise, he approached the strange couple and struck a menacing pose, his right hand a few centimeters from his Behemoth. Like the rest of us, he carries it on the tight, cowboy-like, and not on the hip like the police.

The handsome face of the Icelander froze too and it’s with an emotionless voice that he told Sanchez he wasn’t Hartsollen and that, if he continued on this track, he could spend his night in the pit. Or, if he preferred, in the native village at the foot of our promontory. The guy must have thought that here, at least, he would have a modicum of comfort, and he relented.

We were more or less hidden under the arcades, discreetly within reach. Lin stared at Curly and Shorn and they got their guys back to work. Kris took the bounty hunter to his room, entrusting him to Stig. He would keep an eye on him, letting him access the mess hall – at the proper times – and the toilet. The rest of the time, he would be our guest, under house arrest until his departure the next day.

Stig quickly organized his men in shifts to watch our persona non-grata. Not very grata… We saw him at lunch, sitting with Lullaby, on guard duty at his door at the time. We preferred to ignore him whenever we saw him. We shouldn’t have, I guess. But hindsight is always perfect.

We stayed polite with the man, we lived our life without taking him into account. At dinner, Lin invited him to her table and it seemed she manage to convince him a little that Kris was not Kurt. Still, Kris had to prove it and that was a lot of fun. Let me tell you.

The infamous Kurt had a slightly crooked appendicitis scar. Kris, as Lin told us, didn’t have a single mark on his body. Not one. Erk had taken care of it. Well, both brothers had a good basic genetic makeup (damn good, actually!), but Erk discovered his Healing Gift very early on and had always looked after his little brother. 

Therefore, Kris doesn’t have a single scar, a single mark, blemish, discoloration…

The dude asked for proof. Lin looked at him with her pupilless gaze, but other than swallowing, he didn’t show any reaction. Kris stared at the guy for a long time and then said okay. He handed Stig a USB drive and whispered something to him. Stig grinned fit to split his face in two and gathered his men to whom he also whispered. Big smiles all around then they started clearing a path from the stereo to the bounty hunter’s chair, pushing tables, chairs and mercenaries out of the way, sitting them on each side of the path.

Kris placed Baby Jane and Bloody Mary, another English girl, half-way, facing each other, while whispering instructions to them. They, too, smiled widely.

Knowing Kris’s sense of humor, we got ready for the show.

He took a position opposite the guy, close to the stereo, his back to us. Stig started the music. It was an old piece, sans lyrics, quite languorous. The Icelander gave the bounty hunter a shy look over his shoulder, slowly fluttering his eyelashes. Lin’s eyes widened then she settled in her chair, arms crossed, a small smile of anticipation on her lips. She knew.

His back still to us, he started undulating in rhythm with the music, with the boneless grace of a snake. We all heard the click of the buckle and his belt – with the gun – began to go down his leg like it had a life of its own.

Some of us got it and there were some loud wolf whistles.

He started to stroke his back and neck with his hands and it really looked, from where we sat, like he had a partner. And this partner took off his t-shirt gradually, in a very sensual way. Then he was shirtless. He turned around gracefully, giving us a good view of his exotic dancer body – not to say stripper. Well-defined pecs and abs, obliques, all refined and elegant. A few guys crossed their legs, embarrassed. And yet, we saw him naked in the shower every day, but there, under these circumstances… The room was utterly silent. Not a word, not a whistle.

He put one foot on a chair, between Bloody Mary’s knees and, still staring at the bounty hunter, very slowly lowered the zippers of the boot. Mary grabbed it and when Kris spun about on one foot like a ballet dancer, he was on stockinged foot. Spin on the booted foot, grand battement on the side – his leg was vertical, the foot over his head, very impressive ballet move –, arms in fifth ballet position, socked foot on the ground, booted foot on the chair opposite, between Baby Jane’s knees, slow descent of boot zippers, same move from Baby Jane and here is Kris, shirtless and bootless, having gone half the way.

Sanchez swallowed, his face flushed. Lin laughed quietly.

Another spin, Kris puts his foot on a chair, and, still staring at Sanchez, very slowly took his sock off like you would with silk stockings. Tito, sitting next to me, swallowed audibly. A nice ballet move later and the second sock followed the sultry path taken by the first. Now the Lieutenant was wearing only his pants.

He continued his progression dancing, serpentine, sensual. Erotic. There are no other words. Eyes fixed on the stiff guy in the middle of the corridor, as if they were alone in the room. And yet, there was never a coarse or vulgar gesture – kisses, pelvis swaying –, everything was only suggestion, which is characteristic of eroticism: the move that brings out muscles, that highlights part of the anatomy…

He popped the buttons of his fly one by one and, like his belt, his trousers seemed to have a life of their own, sliding down his legs. He was no longer moving forward, was still dancing, the movements of his hips reminiscent of oriental dances, and they in turn pulled or held the cloth.

I wonder if the Icelander had not, as some time, been a professional exotic dancer, everything seemed so fluid, so smoothly executed.

He continued his progression, stepping over his pants on the ground with incredible grace. How come this guy, who handles his EMA 7 without qualms, who gives mercy to wounded soldiers because we don’t take time to heal the enemy, who is a warrior, a true one, how come his guy can be so refined, so elegant, so… feminine? And yet, at the same time, so masculine, so confident in his virility?

Tito was transfixed. The allure of novelty? He knew, my pal Tito, that the Viking was as straight as they come. But seeing his brother dance that way, one had to wonder which way he was swinging, even if, until now, we had seen he liked women.

A meter away from the heavily sweating, scarlet-faced, short-breathed bounty hunter, Kris stopped at the same time as the music. You would have to be completely blind no to notice the absence of scar tissue on the dancer’s flat and muscular stomach.

Slowly, slipping both thumbs under the waistband of his boxer-shorts, Kris began to slowly pull them down, still looking straight in the eyes of the guy.

Sanchez looked down, defeated.  
\- OK. Stop. It’s not Hartsollen.  
\- What a shame! I was ready to take it all off, for your eyes only… Kris said in a voice that was a little husky, sultry, with a vaguely insulting drawl.

And he gave him a very nasty smirk as the Company cheered wildly amid whistles. We weren’t all there, of course, Nanny was on duty in sick bay, and our sentries were out, but most of my comrades had had an eyeful.

There was another person who was not part of the fun. That person was in the room with us, but we had forgotten about it.


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning, right after breakfast, Kris, as usual, brought his meal to his brother. The Viking was eating more, and solid food. Between his damaged left shoulder and his still weak right forearm, he found it difficult to eat on his own, which annoyed the hell out of him when he had the energy to rant.

Thanks to Cook’s care, both physical and psychological, he was much better. Lin had reminded him that a pair of balls was not necessary to be a soldier, as she was testament to it. He had replied that even if that was true, he was glad to have kept his, as he preferred their non-warlike use. She had laughed. Apparently, the bigger problem was the murders. But Cook was working on it.

He hardly had any bandages on his face, now, apart from his cheekbone, and his two borage-blue eyes were visible again, the left surrounded by a beautiful shiner.

That morning, Cook had brewed him a herbal tea heavy with valerian so he would sleep a lot. The more he slept, the faster he healed.. He also had made him fried eggs, sunny side up, with a slice of fresh pineapple. And Kris had fed him while telling him of his dance the night before, which made him laugh.  
\- You didn’t dare…  
\- You bet I did! He was getting aggravating. And what an asshole. You should have seen his face: red, sweating, embarrassed… I had a lot of fun. It reminded me of the Military Academy in Baden. Mmh, I can see you’re getting tired. Rest well and I’ll see you tonight, with dinner.  
\- Thanks Kris.

He came out of his brother’s room, directly onto the arcades. This room is one of the few to have a French window, and not a solid wooden door, hence its choice as a sick room.

And Ketchup obtained permission from Lin to plant vines at the base of the posts, so the wounded would have something pleasing in front of their eyes. She chose a bougainvillea and a jasmine with quite a heady perfume. Lin had some already mature plants delivered and Erk, when he is not asleep, sees from his bed, facing the door, clusters of bracts in a beautiful very vibrant Tyrian pink.

Kris came out of the room, his brother called him, he started turning to him and, at that moment, white-faced, he did an about-face again towards Lullaby and the bounty hunter – who were in the yard, out from the mess hall – yelling “No!”. Sanchez was so surprised he dropped the weapon with which he had intended – which betrayed him to the prescient warrior – to shoot Kris. What a dumbass of a gunslinger…

Lullaby drew faster than the Man with No Name (you know, the cowboy played by Clint Eastwood) and shot Kris. This action, more impulsive than anything else, had surprised him and he had not been able to “know” about it beforehand. And behind him was his brother lying in his bed, unable to move.

So, instead of throwing himself to the ground, he got in the path of the bullet. And when he fell, half in the room, half under the arcades, Erk screamed his name and tried to get out of bed. Doc, in the next room, jumped at the gunshot and saw the giant’s legs twitching under the sheet as he tried to stand up. She grabbed an injector, rushed over and hop! Nighty night Viking!

Then, she saw Kris on the ground. Without even wondering if lead was still flying, she threw herself at his side. This action allowed us, dumbstruck spectators as we unwittingly were, to come out of our paralysis and throw ourselves on the two perpetrators.

We violently stripped Lullaby of her gun, handcuffed her behind her back and tied her to the ugly metal bench in front of Lin’s desk. We were even less considerate to Sanchez. Stig threw him a uppercut to the chin, sending him backwards, half-stunned. Then he was handcuffed, too, but lying on the ground because he couldn’t stand up nor sit.

Lin came out of her office at the gunshot, didn’t even try to stop Stig. She rushed over to Kris. And stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him alive and well, wide awake, on the ground, half undressed by the doctor, his pants mid-thigh. And behind him on his bed, his brother with his eyelids at half-mast when he was wide awake just before.  
\- May I know what’s going on? she asked with a voice of steel.  
\- Depends what you want to know, Lin. Whether I’m going to make it or not, how did I end up on the ground…  
\- Stop your bullshit, Hellason! she inveighed. He tried to lay low.  
\- All right. Well, I was coming out of the room, Erik asked me something so I turned, then sensed Sanchez’s intent and stopped him but Lullaby…  
\- Higgins, Lin said flatly.  
\- Pardon? Oh! So Higgins shot me and I wanted to block the bullet going straight at him.  
\- And you stopped it with you hip. How come you are not only conscious but also being a jerk? and Lin was almost smiling.

Kris laughed, then pull out of his pocket a little old-fashioned real paper book and threw it to her. She caught it easily. It has been shot through, slowing the bullet before it bit his hip, sparing him a nasty wound and causing him to bleed a little.

Lin looked at the soft cover and gave a hearty laugh, which surprised the heck out of us and at the same time made us feel good. We hadn’t had a lot of fun this last week.  
\- The Kama Sutra! You owe your life to the Kama Sutra! Ah! Can’t say your vice will be the death of you, now, can we? You’ve got a fucking lot of luck, Kris!  
\- Oh, I’ve got a hole and I’m bleeding, right? I’m injured, still!

But he was laughing saying that. Then Doc got mad because he was moving too much while talking.  
\- Enough for now! You Hellason brothers are insufferable! Not one worth more than the other!

She noticed Tito who’d come close.  
\- Tito, take him to the exam room. And since Kris wanted to walk, she added: He must not put his foot to the ground until I’ve seen the wound.

Tito stared at Kris who was trying to pull his pants up again, then gave him a big predatory smile.  
\- What do you prefer? Princess or fireman?  
\- Huh? he said cleverly, taken by surprise.

Doc laughed as she went to make sure her injection hadn’t hurt the Viking because she had been a bit frantic in dosing him to make sure he wouldn’t hurt himself.

Kris being silent, Tito lifted him like a newlywed carrying his new wife through their bedroom door for the first time. The Icelander blushed, then decided to play Tito’s game to the hilt and went limp, almost liquid, closing his eyes as if he’d fainted. Tito groaned and transferred him to his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Kris grumbled and starting struggling. Then he let a out a little cry and stopped, cursing. While messing around with the Albanian, he had forgotten his injury.  
\- Are you OK, Kris?  
\- Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just drop… put me down on the table so we can be done.

In the end, it was nothing even if, indeed, Kris is injured, the 9mm bullet went through the little book and penetrated the flesh of the blond on half a centimeter. So, he’s got a hole, he’s bled and he’s got a bandage. But, as Doc says, it’s nothing, he can walk, so apart from running like a headless chicken in the mountains, he can work.

Lin grumbled a little, because she may have had three Lts, not one of them is able-bodied.

After dinner, she told me, half joking:  
\- See, Archer, I have three Lieutenants. That should give me six arms and six legs, right? And no! Actually, I have three and a half legs and three arms.  
\- Well, not really, Erk has no leg injuries.  
\- Maybe so, but right now he can’t walk. Then Kris is limping, so three and a half legs.  
\- Fine. As for the arms, it would be more like four and a half arms, since Erk can use his right arm a little.  
\- OK, if you want to quibble…  
\- Sounds like you’re a little under the weather, Lin.

She sighed.  
\- Let’s say being a commander isolates you. And that, without the brothers, I feel even more isolated. I’ll tell you a secret, Archer. You see, I have known those two idiots since their birth: I’ve changed them, gave them their bath, even fed them their bottle… I was their babysitter when we were still in Iceland. And as I was always at their home, I sort of educated them, too. We understand each other so well that, with them, commanding is less… lonely.

She looked at her hands, seeming lost in her thoughts for a long while. We were sitting on the metal bench under the arcades, it was dark, the outside lights were off. Then:  
\- Say, Archer, would… I don’t want to be alone tonight, is that possible?

I was surprised out of my skin. Didn’t expect that. And although her eyes were invisible, and unreadable, the tone of her voice told me a lot.

So I said yes.


	16. Chapter 16

As soon as he could walk – that is, the next morning – Kris went, as is to be expected, to see his brother. He was conscious, but completely high on morphine and not very coherent. Well, of course, trying to get up when his brother fell had not been the best for his health. But despite that, there’s one thing he hadn’t forgotten: as soon as his brother touched him, he healed him with his gift. Of course.

And of course, Kris grumbled, saying he didn’t mind having a scar, and that Erk wasn’t really in the best of shapes, but too late.  
\- You’re a pain in the ass, you know, _hálfviti_.

Erk gave him a big doped smile, full of sweetness, which made him smile too.  
\- Come on, big brother, get some sleep and stop doing stupid things, will you? Even for me.

Second big doped smile then the Viking closed his eyes and fell asleep.

I’d come to pick up Kris and help him join us in the mess for breakfast. I also had to leave a baby monitor in Erk’s room, since right after breakfast there would be a meeting for all of us. The baby monitor had been altered by Jo, our technician. He is a genius with technology, that nerd. He’s the one who had hacked an old smartphone to turn it into our short range ID scan for the Europeans. Well, there are not too many IDs circulating around here. And we know the locals a little. That’s not the case of the other ones, the non-locals.

The baby monitor was going to let Doc, in the meeting with us, know whether Erk, the only one in the hospital, would need help or not. It would also allow the Viking, if awake, to hear us, since Jo had made it transmit and receive at the same time.

When we came out of the little room, Kris leaned over me and whispered a “Thank you”. I didn’t get it right away. Then his eyes fell on the Blood Lily coming out of her office on her way to the mess. I blushed. He laughed.

On our way to the mess hall, we picked Sanchez up, whom Stig has untied and brought back to his room the night before. Then he had put a guard in front of his door.

The guy was mad as a hornet’s nest but Kris stared him down. When Sanchez had calmed down, he asked him to come with him for an explanation.

So, we all met in the mess hall for breakfast. Kris and I kept Sanchez company and Kris managed to loosen him up a little bit. The Icelandic charm, no doubt.

We all ate really fast, we so much wanted to know the aftermath of yesterday’s shooting. Then, we all turned to Lin. Beside her, handcuffed to her chair, there sat Higgins. Lin stood up.  
\- Fine. As I told you when I arrived, I am the only one to decide on your presence in this company. And I could have entrusted Higgins to Sanchez and kept you none the wiser. But… But I intend to spell things out so you all get it clearly.

She took a heavy canvas pouch from next to her – we don’t use a lot of plastics anymore nowadays – which she put in front of her. She then took a small knife and used to cut out, and not unstitch, the Blood Lily patch on Higgins sleeve, make the t-shirt underneath appear.  
\- Higgins, Janet, 32, from the UK, signed into the Company five years ago. Guilty of abuses on non-military targets and therefore sentenced in absentia to prison for war crimes. The ECHR authorized me to try and save you but you betrayed my trust by ganging up with this bounty hunter to give him one of your brothers in arm who, moreover, is not the person he was looking for, as we saw yesterday.  
\- So you want to protect your little darling, right, bitch! What can he do to make you do that, eh? Fuck you until you can’t tell your ass from your cunt? Huh?

Lin looked at her with her famous, carefully indifferent gaze, and this time maybe it was. She looked like she didn’t give a damn what we thought of her. We were appalled at Higgins.  
\- It’s not even worth answering, Higgins, but if you can’t keep a civil mouth, I’ll crush your larynx to shut you up. Friendly warning: it is very painful.

Higgins looked around for Sanchez, who carefully avoided her eyes, seeming to realize the mess he’d gotten into.  
\- Well, now that you’re silent, let’s continue. Your sentence was withheld while you were in the Company, which is not longer the case. So you will leave shortly with Sanchez who will hand you over to the proper authorities. In this pouch are your personal stuff, ID papers and others, as well as your stripes.

She very gently threw the pouch on the Brit’s lap. Lin resumed speaking.  
\- Sanchez, she’s all your. I advise you to watch out for her and invite you to hand her over to whom she may concern as soon as you can. I believe you’ll find a helicopter in Kandahar. I can’t do anything to you for what you did to my people, so I advise you to make yourself sparse.

She then looked at us, her pupilless eyes boring holes into our faces.  
\- Soldiers, whoever the victim, whatever the reason, if one of you acts like Higgins, this is what will happen to him. Once again, if you cannot stand my presence and my command, arrange for yourself to die in battle if you don’t want to follow her path. Dismissed.

We went back to business. For me, it was helping Fatso in Lin’s office, since he only had one arm, now, his prosthesis on the way. He took over the admin part of the Company, to allow Lin to focus on strategy and our missions.

While waiting for the fallout of our first mission, we resumed our patrols. They are made on foot or with the Land-Rover, in squads of eight. They serve several purposes. We get friendly with the locals, those who break their back raising sheep and goats or scratching the earth for some potatoes or chickpeas.

When we come across any sick or injured person, we send for Doc, or sometimes load the wounded in the truck to treat him at base. It’s quite evident that when Erk can get out again, he’ll be on healing detail. It’s never a chore for him, though.

As Lin is quite generous, the patient leaves healed and with things that are sometimes missing: soap, cooking pots, aluminum foil, fresh vegetables, sometimes. One thing they love, especially the women, are broth cubes, called Kub. With this, we make a lot of girlfriends. Of course, taking advantage of their nice disposition towards us is out of the question – the girls in the Company would have us singing a permanent soprano. Ugh…–. They are just… platonic girlfriends, shall we say. When we go on patrol, we always take a few Kubs with us. Boil a liter of water, throw a Kub in and, presto, instant chicken/beef broth. Very handy for a quick hot drink at night.

It’s calculated, and the return is well worth the cost of the extra soap, tin foil and so on: the local populations support us more or less, or at least, don’t throw a wrench in our works.

Patrolling is not just parading about with our guns and tactical vests. Each time it’s possible, we give a helping hand: since we started patrolling, we’ve helped catch up stray sheep, rebuilt a collapsed house, dug a well… Again, it’s calculated.

The guys around here are starting to turn to us for issues of neighborhood, boundaries, arbitration, policing. Lin appreciates it, it undermines the power of the local warlords and is what the UN new formula is looking for in this corner of the globe. With the isolation of the US, the UN moved to Paris, giving France great power, even if the UN is supposed to be neutral to the ground where its offices are. Add to that the ECHR in the New Hague, NATO in Brussels and Interpol in Lyon, France, and Europe has become a big chunk, a little too big for China or Russia to think of swallowing. Or even for India, who is starting to look beyond its borders.

As for us, we are at the end of the European system. We are the knife, the scalpel with which Europe, trying to fill the void left by the isolation of the US, tries to slowly (and with difficulty) excise the metastases inherited from terrorism and Daesh.

* *

About ten days after Higgins dismissal, we came back from our patrol late at night, exhausted and very filthy.

Kris being the only working Lieutenant, he went out with his brother’s men or his own, randomly. For the patrols, there is no volunteering. Fatso and Lin had established a rotation system and the only one who didn’t rotate was Kris, because he was always patrolling. At the beginning. Later, as Erk’s recovery was taking some time, the sergeants replaced the Viking as second lieutenant, as Kris was starting to show signs of wear.

We were filthy because we had helped a village a day’s walk from the base to empty the… shit pit. Yeah, that’s it, the shit pit. Lin says it’s called a cesspit, but it still smells like shit.

Anyway, it’s a messy job, disgusting, stinky, but it prevents an epidemic of dysentery, so, when we saw it was mostly women, children and elders, we just rolled up our sleeves and waded (!) in, except Baby Jane and Mac. They would be our sentries.

Mac is Kris’s second corporal –the other one is Stig. She is a 75kg 1,65m woman. Compact. And not Scottish at all. She’s an Italian with a shaved head – she likes it because it’s quick to comb in the morning. Ah! – and she is the wife of Bloody Mary, our other Englishwoman. She has some leverage, with her physique. Once she sets both feet to the ground, only the Icelanders manage to knock her down. She’s like a crane truck with her outriggers out. It’s macache – hence her nickname – to make her move. Macache is French, from North African Arabic, meaning in one word: “try as you might, you won’t succeed”. The Viking likes to spar with her, because he has to exert himself a bit, like with his brother or Lin.

Anyway, we left our guns with Mac, Baby Jane went to perch with her Adlerauge and heavy duty noise-canceling headset, we took out the shovels and all waded in the shit, Kris included. Fortunately, here they are dry toilets, so the mixture of soil, plant debris and the rest was still manageable. Apart from the smell. After a while, we couldn’t smell anything, of course. It was the reaction of the women of the patrol that reminded us of what we had floundered into.

In the evening, we were exhausted. Knackered. We had been stirring their stuff all day long, mixed it with more plan debris and spread it downwind of the village, to make it dry. When dry, they would bag it and sell it to the poppy growers. Guaranteed organic fertilizer.

The women of the village had heated water for us to clean up a bit. For the village, these few buckets represented a day’s work, so we saved as much water as we could. We slept there and the next day, after a breakfast with the whole village – they kept upwind of us, ah ah – we left with friendly waving.

Our patrol was nearing its end, we were on foot, still attentive. We were pretty happy when we set foot on the winding road track up the promontory. Kris called the Ops room.  
\- BLC, this is Serval Patrol, on our way back.  
\- BLC here, welcome home, guys. Kris, that you?  
\- Yeah.

Laconic, the Lt. He was beat. This was his third patrol in a row. Our patrols lasted 3 to 4 days. That was the maximum we would bear in terms of cleanliness and military rations. We would rest for 2 days and then go back. But not Kris, because we had foot patrols every day. The truck patrols were shorter and went further, but it was both sergeants, Curly and Shorn, that would rotate on them. On foot, it was Kris. When his brother would be well enough, they would take turns. In the meantime, he was burning shoe leather every day. At the end of each patrol, he just had enough time for a shower, for one of Cook’s nice dishes and would then fall on his pad after watching his sleeping brother. And the next day, he would be gone at dawn.

And that night, he was so drained he stumbled and responded in monosyllables.  
\- Kris, that you?  
\- Yeah.  
\- There’s a surprise for you at the barbican.  
\- OK.

We traded looks, quite surprised by the blond’s total lack of enthusiasm. Then he tripped and we realized how bone-weary he must be. The dancer he was would have caught himself up more elegantly than the kind of forward run/fall that stopped when he managed to put a hand on a boulder.

I was determined to demand that Lin stopped sending him on patrol day in, day out. I know for a fact she was short on able-bodied officers, but I was really determined.

We crossed the first ditch, Kris almost pitched over. We crossed the wall and the second ditch, Kris was walking on autopilot. We approached the barbican. Mac and I saw the figure waiting behind the sandbags and smiled. But Kris didn’t see a thing, his eyes on his feet, putting them down one after the other, trying not to crash.

With his helmet, he hit a wall. A wall that said:  
\- Good evening little brother.

He looked up and:  
\- Erik?

The Viking gave him a big happy smile then reached out and caught him just as his legs just gave way.  
\- Hey, _bróðir_ , are you OK?  
\- Erik, you are…  
\- In better shape than you, it would seem.

He hugged him tight with his good arm as Kris tried to get his feet under him again. Then Kris put his arms around his brother to hug him very very tightly, if the small groan the giant let out was any indication.  
\- Oh my, what a reek on you, bro!

Still hugging the Viking, Kris chuckled weakly. We gathered around the brothers, all happy to see Erk out of bed.  
\- Oh hell, guys, you stink to high heavens! I am sure they can smell you in Purgatory! Come on, guys, get under the water and no dinner until the strongest smell on you is soap. Execution, skunks!

He had a huge smile, so we didn’t take offense and went and stripped, putting our stuff somewhere in the courtyard. Our clothes went straight to laundry where the guy on duty immediately started a machine. Our boots, blankets, helmets, and other things that don’t like the machine, we left out because after tomorrow morning, the smell would be less strong, we would be less exhausted and we could clean up in broad daylight.

We all went stark naked to the showers, Stig and Tito giving us, at the entrance, towels, shower gel and shampoo and we were finally able to clean up. Kris was so tired he couldn’t stand up, so Erk sat him down on a stool and helped him wash up. And since he is a generous guy, he scrubbed our backs, saying laughingly it was more to spare his delicate sense of smell rather than out of sheer kindness. We laughed too, albeit tiredly. I still got the impression he gave us one of his “magical” back massage, too, but I was so strung out I could have been wrong.

We felt a bit better, Kris managed to plod to the mess hall. Cook had prepared a Parmentier for us. The good thing is that it goes down almost on its own. It was funny – well, because of the contrast – to see Erk feeding Kris who could barely sit with his head in his hands.

The Viking quickly gave up, Kris had fallen asleep. He hoisted him on his good shoulder, much to our surprise and went to put him to bed. We couldn’t get over it. Fifteen days earlier, he was bleeding like the proverbial butchered pig, and now, despite his shoulder in a sling and his shiner, he carried his brother to his bed.

He can’t be human.


	17. Chapter 17

Before going to bed, I went to see Lin. I had made a promise to myself, for Kris, and I intended to keep it. The night I had kept her company, at her request, she had made it clear to me that I couldn’t take advantage of her weakness. I got it loud and clear. Especially loud… Err, sorry, keep getting sidetracked when it comes to the Icelanders. What I wanted to do that night was talk to her as the Lt’s brother in arms.

I found her in her office with Fatso, they were, in fact, discussing Kris. I barged in, interrupted them and got an indecipherable gaze from Lin and annoyed expression from Fatso. Then the import of what I’d just done cut through the haze of weariness that enveloped me and I felt a true ass.  
\- Sorry, Lin, Fatso, I…  
\- You too are exhausted, and you are forgiven. And I will grant your request. But think about it, Archer, if my three Lieutenants stay on base, then the sergeant & corporals are the ones who will suffer.  
\- Got it, Lin. This is what we are here for, too. If we don’t stand united, might as well shoot ourselves dead and be done with it, right?  
\- Well! said Erk, whom I hadn’t see, partly hidden by the open door. We finally did it, Lin!

She laughed.  
\- Yeah, after three months, we managed to give you an esprit de corps and some moral foundations… It’s about time, I was starting to despair.

I stammered, I wobbled, then I felt a little knock to the back of my knees. I fell down on the stool Erk had kicked towards me. He caught me and held me back to keep me from falling, but boy was I glad to have that thing under my butt. Reflexively I patted his hand and leaned on the backrest of my stool, halfway to sleep.

What do you mean, there’s not backrest on a stool?! I can tell you there was one here and, on top of that, it was padded.

I fell asleep.

* *

The guys found out I was keeping a journal and after the first teasing, when I made them read the first few pages, they would spontaneously come and tell me things I had missed. Some I put in it, some I didn’t, if I think it doesn’t add to the story.

* *

Actually, that night, I was leaning against Erk, standing behind me, and fell asleep, sitting on my stool, propped up against the giant. Fatso told me he’d put his finger to his lips, in the international sign for silence, and that they let me doze off a bit as they continued their discussion. Then, as I didn’t wake up, Lin carried me to her bed in the next room – through the connecting door.

I woke up in her bunk for the second time. All alone, this time. I learned she’d slept in my bed. I can imagine the faces of my roommates, Curly, Shorn, Stig, Fatso, Dio – my co-corporal – when, upon waking up, they found the Blood Lily under my covers.

Well, Curly and Dio may not have seen her because they had left on Ocelot Patrol.

In the Company, patrols names correspond to a geographical area. Serval is south, Ocelot west, Puma north and Caracal east. That’s for foot patrols. In the Land-Rover, they are called Cheetah for east and Leopard for west. When we would get the bikes, we would add Mustang for north and Brumby for south.

The good thing about these code names is that you know right away where the guys are, where they’re going and where they’re coming from. Who’s on the patrol doesn’t matter when you get a radio call.

We alternate areas, because there just aren’t enough of us to cover all of them all the time. And, well, our role is not really a truly traditional military role.

If we patrol, it’s to turn the local population towards us and away from the warlords. Our role, apart from cleaning the place of the warlords, is to prepare the ground for the UN forces to come and occupy the area when things are a little calmer.

Okay, so now you’re asking why are the UN forces not coming right away?

Well, you’re in for a short history lesson.

When the US closed their borders, they took home the vast majority of their US troops abroad and a good number of their troops under UN mandate. In the stampede, a certain number of their soldiers, less religious, less chauvinistic, or just less fortunate, found themselves stranded outside, without always the financial means to return. Some have been successful, others less. Still, this vacuum left guys like the Dotard, the late leader of the SRH and others as the only military forces. Opposing them were disoriented GIs, without resources.

The dudes from the PMC (private military companies) like Acadamy, CiCA or Argentium did not fare too badly at first, but the US government stopped hiring them, since it was no longer waging war around here and, with no income, the guys started not being better than the ones they were fighting. Well, what’s for sure is that, before, the American PMCs were getting golden balls, diamond, even, while not being always very clean, as we were before the arrival of the Icelanders. But all we got were tin balls. Maybe cheaper. Paint us unlucky. Or stupid.

Anyhoodles, the military vacuum has allowed the warlords to get fat, the traffickers of opium (from which are derived both morphine and heroin) to get fat, the traffickers of humans to get fat and the poor honest natives to get lean.

So the ECHR condemned the mercenaries, GIs and other soldiers abandoned by their countries for war crimes. I have to admit we often deserved it. Then NATO, with the backing of the UN and the intel from the ECHR recruited officers with a good reputation and gave them a budget and almost carte blanche to use these guys (us, therefore) to do the heavy clean up, in exchange for amnesty if it was deserved.

Why not send their own soldiers? Well, because they are soldiers, expensive to train, feed, pay, treat, repatriate, bury… While we are just nobodies, already trained, already there and, on their budget, just the last line before the bottom line, under the “Miscellaneous” heading.

Also, because, when you get rid a group, there are one or two that spring back up. Just like cockroaches. Damn pain in the ass. The upside is that we will have our job for a while. No being on the dole for us. The other upside is that we probably don’t have to worry about retirement. Unless that is a downside… Anyway.

All I know is that the Company is paid mission by mission. Then it’s up to Lin to pay us.

We get a virtual monthly pay, quite low because we are fed, lodged, laundered, treated. We don’t have expenses because, without Internet access, we don’t get tempted into buying stuff. Let’s say our pay is spending money and contribution to our pension funds.

Lin is smart, she has some kind of commissary set up, where we will find the basics. If we want something it doesn’t provide, we make a list and it’s Ops room which, once a week, connects to Internet via a computer isolated from the rest of the base, and does the shopping. There is only one delivery address, in France and then it’s shipped here by the military mailbox and ends up arriving to us with the fortnightly helicopter. If some of us want to download books or magazine to their readers, her contact in France does it and we received a USB drive.

I know Erk and Kris get their brennivin from Iceland that way. Those of us with hobbies do the same, as long as it stays small.

During the last Serval patrol, the one from which we came back smelling like sewers, Erk had reached this point in his recovery where he could hardly bear to lie down with nothing to do and so Doc, annoyed, had kicked him out of the room, demanding nevertheless that he come to sick bay at least twice a day so she can check his shoulder. According to Nanny – confession never requested but made nonetheless –, Doc and the Viking don’t see each other only out of duty. I guess both of them want to make sure the giant is in perfect working order, despite the tiny injury. Eh eh!

And so, with his clean bill of health in hand, he returned to his digs and went to give a helping hand to Fatso. To Lin who complained because, with those two guys in her office it was impossible to move about, especially with the wide build of the giant, he replied that he needed to be busy, that Fatso needed help and that, anyway, with their two right hands available, it was better than two left hands, right?

She giggled, because she was just complaining pro forma and she let them work. When she had appointed Fatso to this admin job, she had given up all pretense of having a say in the matter.

With two right hands, the guys were able to tidy up the office a bit and advance on a certain number of projects, including that of equipping us with motorcycles.

The Land-Rover was a fairly modern vehicle, the back of which had been transformed into a flat bed with drop-sides, with quite a bit of a rear overhang, offset by the weight of the M2 Browning gun in the front. Like all military vehicles of our time, it had an hybrid engine. Of course diesel is in limited supply around here. It’s not like you can drive five kms and find a gas station around the corner.

The bikes had to be, too, because, again, in our-hole-in-the-ground kind of place, there was no easy access to power either. I mean, there was no EDF, no Iberdrola… you get my drift.

Makes me think I should talk about electricity. Power.

We had two generators than ran on diesel: a big powerful one and a smaller one as back-up, which we ran from time to time.

The little one would start up in the event of the first one breaking down, and would supply the Ops room, the freezers and sick bay, if occupied. If not, only the freezers and Ops room, where all the base computers are.

We had learned to make do without electricity as much as possible. There was hardly any outside lighting at night, normally. When, at the start of our remodeling works, one of the warlords had bombarded at us, he’d had difficulty aiming his mortars, because of the blackout on base.

We have thus learned to move around in the dark, to always switch off when leaving a room. We used small friction flashlights, if necessary. The only places lit after dark were the mess hall, sick bay, Ops room and, sometimes, Lin’s office.

We also had new generation photovoltaic panels, some of which had been broken during the early bombardment. They cost an arm and both legs (the skin of your ass, as goes the French saying) so we waited a bit to replace them.

So all our energy depended on diesel and, a little, on the sun. So we saved power and our bikes had to be hybrids.

Erk and Fatso had hesitated between Honda and Kawasaki, to finally choose Kawa. Small trial machines, 300cc, 70kg with a full tank, fitted with a double saddle. The Lieutenants and the Captain would order, in addition to cans of ocher paint (the cheapest bike comes in black and apple green!), saddle holsters for the EMA 7.

Once awake, Kris would start brainstorming with Jo about a motorbike version of the folding stretcher, but 2,20m long. Wonder why… or who for… The two dudes would end up using the idea of the fishing net with a foldable pole to support the net and two brackets attached with wing nuts for speed to the luggage racks, so the wounded’s buttocks would be spared from scraping on the ground.

As a result, the 300cc of cylinder capacity – which was a bit too much for trial bikes – was just enough to carry two of us or a injured person between two bikes.

But I am going a bit too fast.

Kris slept almost 24 hours straight. And as he was getting into his second night of sleep, we got visitors.


	18. Chapter 18

It all started with a radio call.

We have two radio operators, on rotation every four hours, Mike, a tall skinny girl with a great smile, and Phone, a withdrawn little guy, a true professional.

That evening it was Mike (short for microphone) who took the message, in English.  
\- From R&R-G1 to BLC. Mayday, Mayday. Aircraft in distress, low fuel level, no landing on base due to extreme weather conditions.  
\- From BLC, copy that. Standby R&R-G1.

Mike called out into thin air: ”Lin for Ops room”. And since Lin has very very sharp hearing, she arrived quickly. In addition, her office is not very far from the Ops room.

Mike repeated the message to her. Lin smiled and took the com.  
\- From BLC, copy, R&R-G1. Number and type of aircraft? Over.  
\- From R&R-G1, two E-assault helicopters. Over.  
\- From BLC, landing clearance. No signage on the ground. South southwest side wind, 10 knots. Look out for white smoke pots. Over.  
\- From R&R-G1, copy and thanks. We’ll go for an instrument landing. Over and out.

Lin gave the com back to Mike and went after her Lieutenants.  
\- Erik… Where is your brother?  
\- He went back to sleep. Why?

The giant was on the defensive. She stared at him for a moment.  
\- Two Roses & Rifles helicopters will land east of the base, on the promontory. You’re going with… who’s available?  
\- Archer. Do you think Katja is on board?  
\- I don’t think so. You sound disappointed? Yet you know she’s off-limits!  
\- I know, Lin. I like her, that’s all. I have no intention of poaching.  
\- Mmh… Well, take some smoke pots, white, and go and mark a landing zone there. Find a good flat space. And think about the wind: 10 knots SSW.  
\- Got it.

Erk being my Lieutenant, I tend to stick to him a little bit, especially when I have nothing better to do. So, as I was already there, we were able to get the smoke pots quickly, cover ourselves a bit because, when the sun was down it was cooler down there, and we were approaching winter. We stuck on earpieces and throat mics and went out with a little wave to Tito, posted at the barbican.

We barely had time to set up three pots and light them up when we heard the rotors. And since, if my memory serves me, E-assaults are very quiet, that meant we would be squished if we stayed there.

I grabbed Erk by his sleeve and we pulled out from under the blades. Then the Viking sent me to base, saying they would be less afraid of him since he was unarmed.

Unarmed my ass! Two knives down his boots and his right hand, and he says he’s unarmed! Considering how he had carried his brother the day before, he was perfectly able of catching one of them off guard and using him as a shield before the others had time to react. But if he wanted them to believe he wasn’t dangerous, it wasn’t I, his corporal, who was going to make him change his mind.

So, I obeyed. But, since he was still one-armed and Lin would have my balls (and not in the way I like) if anything happened to him, I hid nearby in the shadows. I muted my mic, I didn’t want to risk being caught disobeying my officer, though.

There was a gust of wind that snuffed our smoke pots. Shit! Hope the pilots were able to see where to put their skids!

The two birds landed, really close to each other, but it could be normal, after all, I’m not a copter specialist.

Four guys came out of the crafts, real pro, those guys, setting up a security perimeter, etc. I was a bit worried for the Viking, so I took my Behemoth out and armed it as quietly as possible. I wished I had taken my bow. The guys were almost in a rest position, but their index fingers, on the trigger guard, were still a little too close to the trigger for my peace of mind.

Then, from the helicopter closest to Erk came down a short guy and… Ah, judging by his build, he is a she. Ah, yes, the babe took her helmet off. Cute, but a tad too serious.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the giant’s big smile. Yeah, he thought her cute too. She scowled. Erk’s grin faded a bit. Who was she to make our Viking sad?

Actually, by dint of seeing his smile, by dint of falling for it, we kept forgetting that others may be immune to it. Yes, that’s true, that smile had the charm turned on to the max. But the giant’s smiles are always genuine and honest. I don’t mean he won’t have nasty smiles, but they are few and far between.

Anyway, all of this to say that seeing that big and beautiful smile wither a little put a damper on my willingness to play nice to them. But hey, after all, they weren’t comrades…  
\- Welcome to our home, he said in English. I am Erk. We’ve some beef bourguignon for you and pushed things around to make room for you to sleep.

He held out his hand to her. She looked surprised, then shook out the outstretched hand. Maybe she was being diplomatic?  
\- Nice to meet you, I am Second Lieutenant Elise Delarcy, commanding officer of 5th Squadron, thank you for welcoming us.

She turned to her men and spoke to them in an incomprehensible language. I just got first names: Igor, Hermann, Fred. One of them got behind Lil’ Elise. A guy almost as wide as he’s tall. In any case, even if he’s much shorter than the Viking, he seems to be somewhat wider in the shoulders. A true lumberjack.  
\- My men and I can sleep wherever you like, she said in English, with a very strong French accent. However, I’d like to have two of them around the crafts.

The giant smiled widely.  
\- Nice to meet you too, he answered in French. I’ll see if we can get you a bed with the girls and we’ll put your guys in the room just vacated. For the helicopters, we have eight sentries on the perimeter, so there is no reason for your men to freeze their ass… ets off in the machines…

He looked at her sideways and then went on:  
\- But they are your men, it’s up to you. Do you want to set up a rotation, for dinner?

The young woman – if I go on calling her a babe, I’ll get told off by Lin, Kris AND Erk. No thanks. – finally faced the giant. I felt like her vision of things was changing.  
\- Well, Erk, we’ll take advantage of your sentries. Can you accommodate two more men?

He seemed to be thinking for a moment.  
\- I’ll have to check it with Cook but I think we can make two more beds in the mess hall. And that way, your men will be the first in for breakfast, he added with a big smile.

I felt like she was thawing a bit, Miss Heavy Helmet. Then she withdrew again. Damn, I don’t know what her principles are, but I have the impression there is a very hard skull all around them…

He stiffened a bit, then turned back to base. I followed him, discreetly, on a parallel course. As he walked, I could see that something was bothering him slightly. The cold shoulder the 2nd Lt gave him? Anyway, like the rest of us he knew the way pretty well and moved a little fast, leaving them to scramble after him in the dark. They’re not idiots either, they turned their flashlights on.

He turned to them.  
\- Sorry, we’re in stealth mode, so turn your lights off…

Huh? What?

She translated then asked why stealth mode. He replied there was a sniper around [first news!] and that we were in stealth mode to avoid being shot at [Whaaat?!!]

She had a strange look as if, one: she believed him, two: she knew what he meant and three: she was mocking us. I didn’t like it at all, but since I was supposed to be back at base, I couldn’t really talk about it.

He smirked, with a raised eyebrow we knew so well, and made his way back to base. I continued following in the shadows. He turned to me at some point, as if by chance. Fuck! I’ve been made. I froze.  
\- Radio? he asked suddenly, into thin air. Miss Heavy Helmet jumped in surprised and almost answered, but he went on. I imagine that, with the moon in the first quarter, she hadn’t seen the throat mic. Well, that’s what we wanted, so, good.  
\- Yes Erk?  
\- Can you tell Lin they’re here?  
\- She’s there, she heard.  
\- OK. And tell Cook: two more beds in the mess hall and beef for nine. Ten, I’m hungry.  
\- Eating machine!  
\- What?  
\- Lin said “eating machine” and asked me to relay.  
\- Ah ah, very funny. Let me tell you I’m still recovering, eh!  
\- Yeah, good excuse! OK, your ETA?  
\- Say again?  
\- I was asking for your ETA? Are you deaf?  
\- Oh! No, it’s kind of windy. ETA 3 minutes. Over and out.

He turned to Lil’ Elise.  
\- So. Dinner is waiting for you. But I am quite annoyed for your helicopters.  
\- What do you mean? You said you had sentries…  
\- Yes, of course, and two wolfdogs. But, you did say _tankkaus_ earlier, right? It means refuel in Finnish, doesn’t it?  
\- Yes indeed. Do you speak Finnish?  
\- No, but that, I know. When you travel by motorcycle, it’s part of what you learn in any language. That and pick-up lines.

Still a big smile on his face, but there was some irony there too.  
\- Problem is, we only have gasoline for the truck, no kerosene.  
\- Ah. This is unfortunate.  
\- Yep.

Erk was getting closer to the barbican so I ran to get to Curly at the door. For that, I sprinted through the rocks underfoot, making a few roll out, then jumped over the sandbags. Tito watched me go by without a word and Curly, a little further in at the gate of the caravanserai, glared at me. I gave him my best Viking smile but, don’t know why, it doesn’t work as well when I’m doing it. He shook his head saying he wouldn’t cover for me. I wasn’t expecting it anyway.

At the barbican, Tito asked a question that acts as a password, since it is in Icelandic. We don’t really know what that means but we have to give our name back.  
\- _Hver er þar_ ?  
\- _Víkingurinn_ and nine friends.  
\- You’re clear to go.  
\- Thanks Tito. You’ll have to work on your accent, little guy.

Tito muttered something like: “Little guy! I’ll give you some bloody little guy. Just you wait until you’ve recovered the use of both your arms, big guy, I’ll kick your ass at veehema” then he warned Curly in _argot_. It went like this: “Vingt-deux Frisé, v’la le loufiat qui se radine avec neuf aminches.” - “Yo, Curly, here comes the Lt and nine pals.”

The giant and the nine R&R came to the gate, Curly politely asked them to lower their weapons, since we were among friends here and they could relax.

Miss Heavy Helmet stiffened for a moment, then, seeing the Viking’s smirk, told her men to put the ordnance away. Well, she’s a very proper soldier, so she said that militarily, but I forgot how, so…

Erk offered to put all the guys in the same place to sleep, which meant in the mess hall on mattresses. It seemed to suit her. He told Curly to warn the sentries to keep an eye on the aircrafts and sent JD to post Alpha near the reverse lawnmowers (the helicopters).

Erk’s borage blue eyes then rested on me and I felt myself shrink smaller than Tito or even than Doc.  
\- Archer, tomorrow, you’re on laundry detail.

Fuuuuck… It’s not the worst chore. The shittiest chore is cleaning up the septic tank, like in the village. But laundry is a mortally boring. You have three big front-loading washing machines with big round windows and two dryers. I tend to let myself be hypnotized by the spinning laundry, as with the TV, but it’s always the same show: ocher, ocher, ocher and, for three months now, a little dried blood here and there. Sometimes, it’s like Survivor, I never know if the t-shirt or the boxers are the ones that will be eliminated. Have to catch your fun any which way you can, right? Oh, we’re allowed to read, but I’m out of new books. Makes me think I’ll have to place an order. There’s a heroic-fantasy book that I should like, the story of a paladin in a pretty well-built world. Anyway…  
\- In the meantime, he went on, take the guys to the mess hall, let them sit down for a bit. Show them the bathroom and the rest first. Have towels and shower gel available. Meet me in the mess hall in five minutes with your guests. Copy?

I wanted to say something stupid, but his eyes were so serious I nodded and: “Yessir!” I almost said “Yessir Lieutenant Sir”, but the habit of no longer using ranks saved me from a blunder.

Erk accompanied Lil’ Elise to the girls’s room. Yeah, we have eight women, so we put them in the biggest room. And as Lul… Higgins has left, we had one bunk available.

I felt like a mother duck with all the guys trailing me around base.

When I brought my ducklings back to the mess hall, the Viking was already there, with Lin, Fatso and Kris whose eyes didn’t really seem to look through their proper sockets. Lil’ Elise too. I mean she was there too, not that her eyes were anywhere but where they should be.

While the R&R ate Cook’s beef bourguignon and Kris – not Erk – shared their meal, the giant gave me a look and a sharp nod to go outside.

Once under the arcades, he stared at me for a moment.  
\- Do you know why you’re on laundry detail tomorrow?  
\- Yes.  
\- Good. When I give you an order, be sure to carry it out asap. Otherwise, things might go south.  
\- Erk, I couldn’t leave you alone with those guys, over armed and in far better shape than you.

He frowned, I felt anger rise. Shoot.  
\- Look, if I’m around you a lot lately, it’s not just because you’re my senior officer. It’s also because Lin asked me to keep an eye on you.  
\- Why? Because of… what happened?  
\- Yeah, but not only that… and I blushed, stupidly.

He straightened up. As he’s really much taller than us, when he’s dressing us down, he always leans towards us.  
\- Oh. So you’re her lap dog, now?  
\- Fuck, why are you so vexing? Such an asshole, too? It was just once, OK? I expect nothing of her, even if I like her. Get it?

He had another of his slightly ironic big smiles, reached out and ruffled my hair. Well, with the crew cut there’s not much to mess up, but the gesture was here.  
\- I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t use and abuse it.

I was quite upset, thank you very much.  
\- Thanks for her, Archer. It’s hard, at her level, to find someone willing to keep her company without using it as leverage on her.  
\- Well…

I didn’t know what to say. His smile turned a whole lot nicer. He put his arm around my shoulders and walked me back to the mess hall.  
\- Come on, mate. You’re still on laundry detail tomorrow.

* *

The veehema Tito is speaking about is the name we ended up choosing for our Vicious Martial Art: acronym is VMA : veehema. Those who don’t know it don’t get it. It’s kinda fun.


	19. Chapter 19

Once dinner was over, Miss Heavy Helmet and our officers sat apart in the mess hall, while I helped the R&R get settled.

We finally made use of the nice holographic table! For an issue with the licenses for the maps (well done Quartermaster), we hadn’t been able to use it professionally yet. But I had used it to create maps for our role-playing games and I was pretty good at using it.

So Lin asked me to come and wrangle it – we finally got the license – while the officers talked business.  
\- So, Elise, you need kerosene for your aircrafts. Well, as I’m sure Erk told you, we don’t have any. We will have to find a solution.  
\- Do you think there are some reserves from the cowboys, somewhere around here? Fatso asked.  
\- The GIs have been gone a long time, Erk replied. I’m afraid the juice will have gone flat, if it hasn’t already been siphoned away.

I looked at Elise out of the corner of my eye. She looked a little lost. I don’t think she’s been practicing _argot_ , it doesn’t fit with her proper military behavior.  
\- Otherwise, there’s the French Air Base in Abu Dhabi, mumbled Kris, but it’s a bit far.  
\- Yes, in that case, answered Elise, we might as well wait until the weather clears at our base and they can bring us some fuel.

They all fell silent, thinking. And then Fatso, who had been around here for a while, opened his mouth.  
\- I do have an idea, but it will make things hairy for us afterwards.  
\- Get to it, Erk said.  
\- It’s not just military aircrafts that use kerosene. And unless military kero is not the same as the civilian – and I do doubt it – we should find something to keep Elise’s birds happy.  
\- Do come to the point, if you will, Lin was frowning.  
\- There are some people around here that will not go crying to the UN if we happen to ”borrow” some of their juice. We, BLC, will feel the windfall, but the UN will never know…  
\- Traffickers! Kris said, finally truly awake. Opium traffickers. They have to have planes to lug their shit from processing centers to ports or other to take it out of the country.  
\- Exactly, Kris. Opium will allow us to get you home, Elise.  
\- Besides, Kris continued, it might slow down the diffusion of their shit. I like it, Fatso. Archer, show a map of the area, to… Elise, if you siphon one of the helicopters into the other, what range do you have? And at what speed?

The too uptight babe thought for a moment, calculating things in her head and then announced a range of 35-40 minutes at 300kmh without falling into the reserve.  
\- OK. So, Archer…  
\- Got it. That said, if we go with the Land, we won’t be driving 200km so, if that’s OK with you, I’m looking first with a maximum range of 50km, then 100 if we can’t find anything.  
\- Good call, said Erk.

I was happy with the compliment. I fiddled with the controls and a 100km-sided map, with our base at the center, appeared in the holo-table. More fiddling, with contrasts, and the 3D map looked almost solid.

The holo-table is one square meter, in useful dimensions. There is a small edge 3cm high, and after, the sky is the limit or quite.

On the edge there is a small flat screen and a virtual keyboard. I put on a pair of special gloves, which would allow me to manipulate the map as if it were a smartphone screen. I started by highlighting the roads, constructions. I added a thermal layer, to make the fields stand out, since an irrigated field doesn’t have the same temperature as a dry one. I brought out tarmac, too, just in case the airfield got it. You never know…

Kris, meanwhile, took his combat tablet out. He would use data provided by the map to obtain satellite images and refine the search area.

I nodded to Lin and they all leaned across. There were interesting red spots. I blocked the maximum size of the map, so as not to go too far if we had to zoom out.

Lin and Fatso each showed me a spot. I zoomed on Fatso’s. There were fields, there was tar, there were buildings. I gave the GPS coordinates to Kris, who interrogated the satellites. He transferred his screen to the white wall. Nothing. He fiddled with contrast, colour balance… Nothing.  
\- Of course, Erk remarked. It’s dark and they don’t light out at night, over there. I think we’ll have to review that tomorrow morning.  
\- Damn! We’re wasting time, Kris grumbled.

Erk shot him a raised eyebrow, he responded with a grimace.  
\- OK, OK, Kris relented. Elise, I know you must be in a hurry to go home with your men, but… are you all right with waiting for tomorrow? Any which way, we’ll have to attack tomorrow at dusk. Will that be fine for you, not too late?

I saw Miss Heavy Helmet’s gaze go from brother to brother, with a sideways look at Lin. Apparently she had not a clue as to who was really in command here. She hesitated again, then nodded.  
\- I’ll have to check if our base is still incommunicado tomorrow afternoon. No need to take any risks if they can come and refuel us by helicopter.  
\- OK. Archer, Erk said, with Kris, note the coordinates of the places you think will work for us within a 50km radius off base and tomorrow morning, since my brother will be up before me, you will watch them by satellite. That way, after breakfast, we can start checking.  
\- Fine by me, Lin said.

There, for sure, Lil’ Elise is lost.  
\- In the meantime, Lin went on, we need to know who’s going. What’s for sure, Erk, is that you’re out.  
\- Yeah, I know. Kris, do you feel like going?  
\- Sure, brother. We need the quietest guys possible. So, Tito. And, I think Archer and… I was going to say Lullaby… Sorry, Lin.

She waved the excuse aside.  
\- You want Quenotte, Kris, I said.  
\- Quenotte?  
\- Yeah, third best archer.  
\- Fine, but I don’t know who he/she is?  
\- It’s the little guy that is as red as a forest fire. Erk even told him to either shear his hair or dye it, it was too visible.  
\- Oh shit, that’ right, I said that. I have to apologize, that was not very nice.  
\- Nah, it made him laugh. He said, instead, that he gonna let it grow as long as yours, to be as visible as possible, I said with a big smile to the Viking.

I thought he was a little pale, our giant, all of a sudden. I didn’t say anything but thought I might have to cut it short.  
\- OK, very good, said Lin. So, we add Poll and Shorn.

She turned to Lil’ Elise.  
\- I think you should stay here, with your birds. Which of your men could come with us?

The miss reared up a bit – it was fun to see, she got very stiff, her upper body leaning slightly back and she gained 2cm in height. The lumberjack, Igor, stole her a glance then said a few words in that weird language they use and she relaxed.  
\- Igor, first. He will choose two men according to the terrain.  
\- That’s fine with me, Kris said. OK, if there’s nothing more to see, I suggest you go kiss your birds good night and then, to bed.

Again, the babe winced. Then she seemed to translate and pointed to the guy called Fred to accompany Kris, who had to come with him because of the dog, Alpha, who might attack Fred, an unknown entity.  
\- Fine, said Erk. I have to go see Doc before bed, so see you later.

Kris gave a knowing smile that his brother carefully ignored, but we didn’t. I knew, because of what Nanny had told me, but the rumor mill had worked full time and everyone was guessing quite right. We all gave knowing smiles to the departing back of the Viking.

And then to bed and sleep.

* *

The next morning, we were all there for breakfast, except the giant, who joined us at the end, looking not completely awake, but we weren’t too surprised, he has trouble waking up. It’s even worse right now because of his damaged shoulder, for which Doc still gives him morphine at night, so he can sleep. He is a little comatose when he wakes up.

He poured himself a bowl of coffee, with no sugar – yuck! –, Ketchup put half a baguette cut lengthwise, buttered and spread with honey, on his tray, Mustard put an apple, peeled and quartered, and Cook gave him fried eggs (six!!) with bacon, with two sausages on the side. I say, there’s favoritism running rampant, here! We only had two eggs. But, well, we don’t have a hole in our body to fix. And seeing what he went through, I’d rather be in my shoes than his…

Mustard took pity on him, took the tray out of his hand – singular – and put it at our table. As he sat down, he thanked her with a big smile that was still a bit sleepy and she patted him on the head, careful not to muss his bun.

Of course, Kris made fun of him about all these women helping him but he ignored him and set about destroying his breakfast, starting with the eggs. Although he looks like a Viking of old, he eats very elegantly, even one-handed. Automatically, Kris took his own cutlery and cut his brother’s sausages into small pieces, since it was impossible for him to do so one-handed – so cute, those brothers – all the while continuing the discussion on which site was the best. It was a bit early, still a bit too dark for the satellite, but I turned the holo-table back on and we thought we had found a few promising sites.

Kris put his cutlery down, wiped his tablet out and attempted to reach a satellite. We had, transferred as before onto the white wall, a somewhat blurry image of the site closest to base.

As always with us, everyone was present, discussing the situation and proposing solutions. The R&R, seated at a table around Igor, were looking at us strangely. I think our lack of formalism must be a problem for them.

Igor was staring at Erk. Of each group, they were the strongest, tallest, biggest, most massive… in short, if we were to stick to physical strength, the leaders. I wonder if the giant’s appreciative smile to Elise the night before had something to do with it, too.

I heard a big “Ahhh”, just like when the image finally appears in a movie theater, and we all saw, finally crisp on the wall, a farm just 30km from base.  
\- Kris, Archer, said Lin, what makes you think this could be what we need?

We looked at each other and Kris stood up. He showed different points on the image as he explained.  
\- Here, the fields. It could be anything, unless you take a good look at the shadow of that figure there. If that’s not the barrel of a Kalashnikov AK-47, I’d be happy to eat my beret with béarnaise sauce.  
\- I think, Erk drawled, your beret, and your stomach, are safe from your culinary experimentation.  
\- But, I only made this bet because I saw this.

And he pointed to a long narrow meadow, super straight.  
\- That’s a runway for an itty bitty plane, with a very short take-off distance, less than 350m. I’m thinking Piper JA-22. It takes off with 220m, ditto for landing, with a 100m taxiing. Seriously, that’s what I’d use here: it’s a small plane, with a good range, that burns ordinary kerosene.

He shows a rectangle among others.  
\- If you look at the shadow of this hangar, you will that its roof is domed, which is quite common for an aircraft hangar. And, in its shade, please admire these two beautiful cylindrical tanks that must contain the famous kerosene.

The faces that were turned to him all looked like they agreed with him.  
\- Now, the icing on the cake, guess whose territory is this place in? Yeah, I’ll give it to you: our favorite Pashtun, Ashraf Abdâlî Durrani.  
\- Duran Duran himself, Lin whispered.  
\- Why does that make it the preferred target? asked the R&R 2nd Lt.  
\- Duran Duran, Lin said, never hid his support for this crop, saying that it provides a sizeable income for local people and having once declared that non-Muslims wanting to kill themselves with H were not his problem.  
\- His problem, Kris said, is that, without the poppy crops, the local populations cannot pay him the tribute he claims and therefore, poor lil baby, without this, he cannot maintain his lifestyle. Think about it, how, around here, maintaining a thoroughbred stable, a harem, constantly flowing fountains, three Porsches, two Ferraris and one Lamborghini, not to mention the necessary staff, how maintaining all that is fucking expensive.  
\- The bad news for him, and Lin’s smile was more than predatory, is that he’s on the list and we need kerosene…  
\- There is something to take into account, Erk said. Even if, in the end, the money falls in Duran Duran’s pockets, when this opium is sold to labs, it’s used to make codeine medicines, among other things. And you all know how much we soldiers need that and morphine. So, when you go there, I think you should avoid burning the crops.  
\- Are you serious, Erik? Lin sounded shocked.  
\- Very. If we screw up the livelihoods of the farmers, they will look to Duran Duran for a living, rather than us or NATO.  
\- _Skítt_. I don’t like it, but you’re right. So… Lin said after thinking a little, we’ll destroy the non-farming facilities: the plane and its hangar, buildings and airstrip. Good. Here are the lucky ones who will have the chance to risk their lives to provide kerosene to the R&R helicopters: Archer, Tito, Shorn, Poll, Quenotte, Kris.  
\- I think I should come.  
\- Bloody Mary? Why?  
\- You forget my specialty, Lin, which the same as Tito’s.  
\- You’re right, my dear. OK, you’re part of the team then. Unless Kris objects to it?  
\- Nope!  
\- Among those I have mentioned, are there any of you who’d rather stay warm, here?

The words she chose made us, of course, say we wanted in, out of pride.  
\- All right, check your equipment, consider taking Smokings and one or two Bulldogs. We’re leaving tonight, two hours before dusk. Those I haven’t named, see Fatso for your assignment.

Erk walked over to me.  
\- That was a narrow escape, Archer. No laundry chore for you.

I couldn’t help but smile.  
\- Don’t worry, you’ll be on it tomorrow.

I pouted. Then I smiled again, because the Viking was smiling to me and I maybe batting for my team, I can’t help falling for his smiles.

I never did laundry the day after. But, come to think of it, I’d have preferred to.


	20. Chapter 20

After lunch, the chosen ones took a nap. Mandatory. The idea was to be in shape for the night’s party. The good thing about our lousy job is that you learn to sleep anywhere, anytime. It came true quickly.

Then, around 1600, Erk went around the sleeping beauties to wake them up, but not with a kiss, except for his brother, whom he loves to tease. I must say it’s reciprocal.

We ended up in the mess hall, having a fortifying early dinner, so as to not be betrayed by an empty stomach. Then, we equipped ourselves with our tactical vests, which are bullet-proof, helmets, throat mics and earpieces. The R&R set theirs on our frequency.

Quenotte and I checked our bows and arrows, one by one. I rejected a few and so he did. Of course, we also had our EMA 7 and our Behemoth, like the others. Shorn and Tito each carried a Bulldog and two rockets. The Bulldog is a rocket launcher – missile launcher, I should say –, pretty ugly but damn effective. It’s a bit heavy to carry, but Shorn and Tito are tough guys.

We would have taken Baby Jane with us, but the farm is in the middle of a fairly large treeless plain, and her snipe rifle would be useless. And too noisy.

Igor chose two guys to come with us, one that was quite stocky and beefy, a certain Curtis, he looked like an corn-fed American, to me, and another one, taller, very silent, named Ladislas. When Lin handed out some RDX DOA “Smoking” bricks – an explosive that is seven times more powerful than TNT –, his eyes lit up like a kid’s in a toy or candy store. Something told me he liked to blow things up. I hoped he was an expert, too, because if it was just for fun, it might hurt.

The plan was to leave two hours before dusk in the Land-Rover with Lin at the wheel and JD as escort. The ten of us would sit on the flat-bed. Then we would surround the place and drop the most sentries silently, either with our bows or by Tito and Bloody Mary – now you know where she got her nickname from. We each had a sector, so I wouldn’t stick an arrow in the ass of one of our assassins.

Once the premises were secure, we would call the helicopters to come and refuel. Depending on the amount of juice in the cisterns, one or both birds would come. We would take to opportunity to ride them back to base and, depending on the time of day, the R&R would leave or end the night with us.

Just before boarding the pick-up, Erk checked our vests one last time, paying closer attention to his brother’s.  
\- Watch out, little brother, OK?  
\- Promised, _bróðir_.  
\- You’d better. I don’t see myself coming to Hella to tell her…  
\- Hey, I told you I’d be careful, right? How do you think I felt when the SRH took you?  
\- I’m sorry, it’s just that…  
\- I know, brother, I now. Don’t you worry, babe, I intend to come back.  
\- Babe… Erk shook his head. Dumbass!

Kris was the last one to get onto the flat-bed, so, after wishing us a safe trip, Erk turned around and headed back to the Ops room where he would follow our adventures via radio.  
\- Hey, babe, keep your ass warm for me, would you?

Without turning around, the Viking brandished high his stiff middle finger and Kris burst out laughing. But when the base was gone, he darkened and looked out, pretty darned silent.  
\- Is that your way of saying goodbye, Kris? I whispered.

He turned to me, eyes sad. Well, shit…  
\- Kind of. We’ve rarely been on missions separately. But I can’t help but fooling around when… Well, you see.

Yeah, I saw, all right. Expressing your emotions, when you’re a guy, is never easy. And the brothers, rather than saying nothing, were trading banter.

I saw him concentrate for a moment, then a lovely smile spread on his lips. He closed his eyes and then whispered in Icelandic. I assumed – correctly – that Erk had spoken to him privately over the radio and had cheered him up.  
\- Kris, I kept whispering, why don’t you just hug like you did the other day? You’re brothers, that won’t seem… weird.  
\- We’re not really brothers. Well, yes, a little… It’s fucking complicated. Our parents lived on the Vestmann Islands, south of Iceland. Erik’s father flew the seaplane that commuted to the capital on the mainland. One month before he was born, the plane was found empty, floating on the sea. His father’s body was washed ashore two weeks later. His mother, not very strong to begin with, held on until his birth but died four hours later, when I was born. My parents, Hella, my mother, and Dýri, my father, adopted him as soon as they knew he was an orphan. So, we are foster brothers. But we are not blood-related.  
\- Oh… And what you feel about him is… ?  
\- At times, a little more than purely brotherly and that scares me. Not because he’s a man. I just feel like I’m completely dependent on him, you know?  
\- Yes, I think I see. If he were to disappear, you would be, what, lost?  
\- Devastated, I think. Aimless, alone… When I think about his disappearance, and it happened not too long ago, I realize that without him my life would be meaningless. I mean, I would continue doing my soldier’s job, but that would be on autopilot, out of habit, with a part of my soul missing… He makes me be a good guy, pay attention to consequences of what I do. If I lost my soul with him, I would be a soldier still, but would I really think about the others? I don’t know and I don’t think so.

I have a ton of questions in my head, there’s no way I will ask them now. There’s one, however…  
\- Kris, your surname is Hellason, and not Dýrison.  
\- Ah, you’re trying to stir me away from melancholy, eh?  
\- Yeah, kind of… And I know that in Iceland, you take the name of your father and –son or –dottir.

He seemed to be gathering his thoughts.  
\- My father adores my mother so much that he wanted to use her name as his patronym, which is never done. But he was so keen on it. He called himself Hellaseiginmaður, spouse of Hella, and insisted that both his sons, the biological one and the adopted one, were called Hellason, sons of Hella. As everyone thought it was cute, the mayor said OK. _Voilà_. Any other questions?  
\- No, well, yes, but it can wait. Are you out of your funk?  
\- Yes buddy. Thank you.

We heard a high-pitched squeal in our earpieces – we all jumped – then the Viking baritone came online. Kris and I looked at each other, hoping he hadn’t heard the blond’s confession.  
\- Sorry guys. Weather update: it’s getting cloudy, Cain’s eyes will have a hard time following you [these are the satellites, which are flying high over us and watching us, therefore…]. So be nice to us and talk.  
\- Copy BLC, Shorn replied.

Kris had leaned over to Igor and translated the giant’s message into terrible Russian. It went: “too much clouds, not seeing, talking”. Curtis surprised us by translating fluently into Russian. Kris blushed and Curtis shot him a smile with some satisfaction in it and I wondered what the Icelander would do with it.

Lin braked and turned off the headlights. We had arrived. No more thinking about anything but the mission now.

We all gathered around her, she shook hands with all of us, even the R&R, and whished us good luck. She went back to base with JD.

Erk put us in a closed circuit with him. Poll started to ride the airwaves, and when he found his way to base and our receiving telepath, he nodded. Lil’ Elise kept Erk company in the Ops room, both aircrafts ready for take-off. There was just enough fuel in both birds to hit the farm.

We moved slowly towards our target then, within half a kilometer, each of us whose mission was to kill the sentries went on their way. Tito gave Curtis his Bulldog.

We confirmed to Erk, via Poll to whom we whispered, that we were all in place and ready. He gave the go for the four of us. I straightened up, arrow notched, aiming at my first victim. The arrow pierced the night, I had already notched the second, let it fly to my second victim. The two fell almost at the same time. I confirmed both deaths to Erk.

Quenotte confirmed his three kills. We waited for Tito’s return – three targets too – and Bloody Mary’s – two, like me.

All sentries were silently eliminated. So we moved forward, joined by the rest of the team under Kris’s orders. We made as little noise as possible while getting closer to the hangar.

And then, luck abandoned us, one of them came out for a smoke. And at that point, the moon came out from behind the clouds and reflected off one the Bulldog’s sights. And the guy must have been an ex-military, because he didn’t think, he just shot. Damn reflexes!

We answered back with our EMA 7, face down or from behind boxes, trying to make ourselves small enough to avoid the flying lead. Other guys came out of the building so Shorn, super calm, straightened up and, calmly, like at the shooting range, lined up the door and let the rocket loose.

The building blew up, the bits and pieces that were falling down were not all concrete or metal. Curtis aimed at the third building and did the same. There was one hell of a fucking explosion, because it hit the poppy sap processing lab and all the highly flammable chemicals suddenly caught fire.

We were lit up like in broad daylight and found ourselves the targets of the four guys still standing. I barely straightened up so I could aim. I felt a damn hammer blow to my helmet, was thrown backwards and found myself lying down on my back wondering what had happened.

I was deaf, I was blind, I was…


	21. Chapter 21

\- Kris! What the hell is going on?  
\- Erk, Tito here. Farm secured. Two seriously wounded.

Erk’s heart leaped in his chest. Tito went on.  
\- Archer and Igor.  
\- OK, the Viking said, sounding relieved. Diagnosis?  
\- Archer took a bullet to the head, through his helmet. He’s bleeding a lot, he’s out. He’s breathing.  
\- Calm down, Tito. I’m sending Kris to you, he’s the one with the first aid kit. Turn your light on the wound: can you tell if the bullet went through his skull?  
\- I don’t think so. Damn, there’s blood everywhere… Shit, hold on buddy! Shiiit!  
\- Tito, calm down…  
\- Erk, Kris here, I’m with Archer. Pulse is strong so far, somewhat fast. The bullet opened the scalp, grazed the bone but it feels like the helmet has played its part.  
\- Fine. Put a bandage on it to limit the bleeding. If the brain is not exposed, use some cistus. We’re on our way.  
\- What?  
\- We’re going to the G1 copter, we should be there in fifteen minutes. G2 will follow. Tell me about Igor.  
\- Erk, this is Shorn. I am with Igor.  
\- Hang on a minute, Erk said as he climbed into the bird. Phone, tell Lin about the injured, no need for her to turn around. Tell her I’m going there. Warn Fatso, too. OK, Shorn, I’m listening.  
\- Igor took a bullet just below the collarbone on the left, it’s bleeding a lot.  
\- Fine. Is the blood light or dark?  
\- Dark, I think.  
\- You think? Shorn, you have to know!  
\- Fuck, Erk, it’s difficult to tell the difference at night!  
\- OK, OK, keep cool, Shorn. It is gushing or just flowing out?  
\- Uh, flowing.  
\- Good news, it must be the subclavian vein or the lung.  
\- You’re calling that good news?

Elise’s face, sitting next to Erk in the cabin, reflected the same question and the same outrage.  
\- Yes, it could have been the subclavian artery and, well…  
\- Oh. Sorry. So, what do I do?  
\- Did the bullet go through?  
\- Uh, I… yes, I just checked, it did.  
\- Very good. Take off his vest, jacket and t-shirt, put pressure on the wound on both sides and put him in a position that’s comfortable for him, so he can breathe. Cover him only if he’s shivering. The cold will slow the bleeding a bit. We are quite close.

Elise had called G2 to find out if it had taken off. They had to load mattresses and blankets.  
\- Kris, if Archer is stabilized, go see Igor, will you? And above all, do not move them.  
\- Copy. Are you far?  
\- Hold on, let me ask. Elise, ETA on site?

She got to see her pilot.  
\- Kris, ETA 3 minutes.  
\- OK. Let’s hope Igor can hold on.  
\- That bad?  
\- Yeah, our man is stabilized, but the Ruskof, it’s not so good. Pulse is fast and weak.

Elise got back to the cockpit to ask the pilot to go faster.  
\- I see. Signal your position with a flare, will you?  
\- I have some red, I’ll send it as soon as we hear you. Damn!  
\- What is it? Kris, what is it?  
\- The plane took off!! Fucking hell! Curtis, rocket, rocket!

In front of the helicopter, the little Piper JA-22 burst out of its hangar, followed by the luminous trail of the Blazt-8 rocket. For a while, they thought the plane would escape the missile, then there was a fireball and then nothing. But Erk and Elise didn’t see this. The copter had landed, Erk had jumped out of it, thrown off balance by his sling he almost fell, and rushed towards the red-lit smoke.

He put his right hand on the wound and his hand glowed, a warm white. Igor, whose breathing had been very shallow until then took a deeper breath and opened his eyes. Elise knelt beside him, worried.

Erk had stopped the bleeding and repaired the bullet-torn vein and upper left lung, and had worked on the exit wound too. There was still a hole on each side, which would repair itself with time. Kris checked the Russian’s pulse and nodded, satisfied. He had lost enough blood to be very weak and only rest would fix that. But his life was no longer in danger.  
\- Well done, bro. Shorn, you stay with him. Elise, tell your pilots to land to the left of the hangar and refuel, Curtis and Ladislas are over there. _Bróðir_ , are you all right?  
\- Yeah, I’ll be fine. Archer?  
\- This way.

The brothers went to Tito and Archer. Bloody Mary stood there too, as sentry. Erk knelt down next to the wounded, unwrapped the bandage with his brother’s help and examined the wound.  
\- He has the luck of the devil, that one! This injury and his helmet will serve as a reminder to everyone of the importance of wearing the damn thing.

He put his hand on the wound and it glowed again. Once again, he stopped the bleeding, partially repaired the bone, which the bullet had grooved on 3mm. The wound would close on its own and he had lost less blood than the Russian. However the shock must have put his brain upside down. He was still out, with normal pulse and breathing.

Erk sat down a bit abruptly.  
\- Oops, I’m dizzy…  
\- Oh, are you all right? Tito asked.

He was holding Archer’s head in his lap. Kris had gone to check, with the remaining able-bodied, that the base was indeed empty before asking Ladislas, demolition expert extraordinaire, to place the Smoking bricks to level the buildings. They also put some on the airstrip, to render it unusable. The idea was to keep the fields and farming implements, and that was it.  
\- I should be better after a little nap, I think.  
\- Erk?  
\- Yes Tito?  
\- You can sit at my back and lean on me, if you want…  
\- Ain’t I a little too tall? the giant asked, yawning.  
\- It will always be more comfortable than the ground. And easier to get up from.  
\- You’re right.

The Viking went to sit behind Tito, leaning on the Albanian’s back and resting his head on his shoulder. He was asleep within the next minutes. Tito turned his head towards him and stroked his silky hair, a small smile on his lips.

When Kris and Elise joined them, the former smiled fondly at seeing the scene. Tito looked up, not moving because he didn’t want to wake the giant. Kris crouched down in front of him.  
\- Thank you for him, Tito. The copters are full, we will load the wounded. Poll and Quenotte will come in a minute with a mattress for Archer, you’ll help them load him in the bird. FYI, Doc and Nanny are waiting for them in the operating room. Archer first, she said, then Igor. Tell me, he’s not too heavy?  
\- It’s OK, I’ve managed to find balance.

Kris fixed his blue grey eyes on the Albanian with a crooked smile and Tito blushed.  
\- I’ve suspected it for a bit, now. Hope you enjoyed it, you know how he is. Oh, pal, don’t blush so hard, you’ll catch fire!

Tito ended up laughing weakly. Kris got up, walked behind him to wake his brother up. It was a bit hard for the Viking, who finally opened both eyes and accepted his brother’s help to stand up.

The mattress arrived, Archer was placed on it gently, Tito stood up, legs numb, and they all got to G1 copter, which joined G2 already in the air. Erk dozed off again during the ride back.

* *

Back at base, the two wounded went straight to the operation room and Doc decided to get Igor first. She admired the giant’s job and asked Nanny to put an IV drip on Igor in one of sick bay’s beds, after he sutured and bandaged it properly.

For Archer, it was more problematic and, after suturing the wound, she put him, with the help of Tito still covered in his buddy’s blood, in the room Erk had occupied before, sticking him full of electrodes to monitor his vitals.

Elise found the Viking, who was struggling to keep his eyes open. She took his big paw in her two tiny hands and, with a tremor in her voice, thanked him. She told Kris, who was helping his brother stand up, that she understood what Captain Haïmalin found in BLC : not orthodox at all, bordering on unconventional, but very efficient. Kris thanked her and went to tuck his brother in.

When Lin finally arrived at base, Doc reported back to her. When she heard that Archer was in a coma, she went stone-faced. She joined Kris in the sick room and took Archer’s hand in hers. She then leaned and whispered something in his ear. Kris reported to her. She looked please with the turn of events, despite the two injuries.  
\- Where’s your brother, Kris?  
\- He’s sleeping. This _hálfviti_ … I shouldn’t call him that. He gave everything he had to save the two guys. I hope Archer will come out of his coma soon.  
\- Me too.

Lin’s voice sounded weird, so Kris stared at her. Then he hugged her and stroked her hair, whispering words of comfort in Icelandic. The Captain, so strong, so badass, was crying. It didn’t last long, and the Blood Lily reappeared as soon as the tears stopped.

Archer would stay in a coma for ten days. Then, one morning, he would open his eyes.

* *

In the end, the R&R stayed one day longer, until the blizzard at their base stopped. Igor took advantages of Doc’s skills who told him to rest as much as possible before going back to fooling around. They looked happy to go back, because three nights on mattresses in the mess hall were not great. The good part is that the men got to know each other. There was an exchange of company codes for emails, just in case. Kris didn’t take revenge on Curtis’s smirk. They seemed to get along.

Life resumed its course.


	22. Chapter 22

“Come back to me, Tugdual”  
“Well, buddy, think about coming back, eh?”  
“Archer, come back, will you? We miss you, pal” Ah, that voice, I know well. It’s…who is it?

Who is Tugdual? Who is Archer?  
Why did Higgins shoot Kris? Who is Higgins? And Kris?  
How could Erk put his hair up in a bun one-handed?  
Who the fuck are these guys?!  
Who am I? Who am I?

* *

I open my eyes to white. Too white, it hurts. I close my eyes again. Too late!  
\- Archer? Tudic?

There’s only one guy that calls me Tudic. I am Tudic.  
But I am also, it would seem, Archer.

It’s coming back to me. Slowly, it’s coming back.  
\- Tito?  
\- Yeah, that’s me. Glad to see you again, mate.

I find my Albanian friend, very small, very lithe and lethal. He takes my hand, as I once took a giant’s. Don’t remember the giant’s name, but I remember his big paw. The Albanian squeezes gently and I try to squeeze back but I can’t.  
\- Don’t worry, he tells me, Doc and Erk said it was normal. Now that you’re awake, it will come back to you.  
\- Tito?  
\- Yes? He seems glad I recognize him, at least.  
\- Who’s Erk?  
\- You kidding me? It’s the Viking! He’s not so happy, now.  
\- Who?  
\- Your Lieutenant.  
\- No, my Lieutenant is the other bastard.  
\- He’s dead, that one. Killed by the Viking on the day they arrived. You don’t remember? He looked worried, my pal Tito.  
\- I… I don’t know, Tito. Who is the Viking then?  
\- Listen… Shortly after they arrived, he was captured, beaten, injured and… you held his hand, just like that. Except that his hands are really huge.  
\- Is he a giant?  
\- Yes. It’s coming back to you?  
\- A little.

It’s all mixed up in my head. Tito tells me everything, the R&R, the kerosene, the bullet in my helmet, my blood on his hands, on his fatigues, Erk’s healing… I have flashes, images and then, there is a smile that stands out. A guy’s smile, with a golden goatee around. There are blue eyes, too. A luminous bird. Gray blue eyes and dark blond hair. Black eyes with a white lock.

I have questions, for Tito. He answers me. Since I joined the Company, Tito has been my pal, my partner, my buddy. The one who watches over me and over whom I watch. A brother.

There are more memories coming up to the surface of my mind. I remember he’s gay and that, as soon as he saw the famous Viking, he fell head over heels for him. I still can’t remember who this guy is.  
\- Tito, who is Lin?  
\- Our Captain. She arrived with the brothers. You event spent one, no, two nights in the room.  
\- What?!

He’s laughing, that motherfucker. As soon as I can stand on my hind legs all by myself, I’ll make him pay for this.  
\- The first time, if I understand correctly, she was the one who asked you. You had a slightly silly smile on your face at breakfast. The second time around, you slept on your own in her bunk, you were exhausted after a patrol. It seems you fell asleep with your head on the Viking’s balls. Lucky bastard!  
\- Huh?! What?!

Here, I’m lost. I’m straight, I would never…  
\- Son of a gun… you’re making fun of me, Tito!  
\- Aye, but you should see your face!  
\- Jerk!  
\- Actually, you were sitting on a stool, leaning on him. I just assumed your head was at the right height. But, honestly, I envy you, you know.

I pity him. I still don’t remember the Viking’s face, but I do know he’s 200% straight. And I understand, slowly, the agony of my friend, madly in love with a man who couldn’t even bear for him to touch him.

Now I can squeeze my fingers and that’s what I do, trying to give Tito some comfort.  
\- You know, Tudic, while he was sleeping, after treating you, I was able to stroke his hair. It’s very soft, like silk. And it smells nice.

He had a silly smile on, too. Poor Tito. He looks at me and blushes so much that I almost laugh.  
\- I remember for whom your heart beats, my friend. You told him?  
\- No, but Kris knows. His brother, he adds when he sees my questioning gaze.

At that moment, a little woman pokes her head through the door. Doc. She’s the only one on base who is smaller than Tito.  
\- Well, I’ve been hearing you chatting for a while, everything seems fine so I’m going to come and do some checking, then I will authorize visits.  
\- And him? I ask, pointing at my friend. Isn’t he a visitor?  
\- He’s a deputy nursemaid.  
\- We took turns, Tudic, with Baby Jane, Curly, Erk, Dio, Mac, even, Kris and Lin. And others. You’ve never been alone, mate. Even the dogs came to keep you company.

Doc then sends Tito for Erk. She takes the opportunity to blind me with a light, to make me squeeze her hand, move my fingers, count backwards… She asks me my name, date and place of birth… The more I answer, the more memories click back into place.

She reassures me when I ask her if I have amnesia.  
\- No, you don’t.  
\- But then, the blackouts?  
\- It’s because you haven’t used your brain for ten days, you slacker.

I take offense, then…  
\- Ten days?  
\- Yes.  
\- Shit…  
\- You can say that again, Archer.

That comes from a warm baritone echoing in the little room. The guy bends over to get in and when he stands up, I see two borage blue eyes staring at me and a big happy smile.

OK, now I know who the Viking is. I respond to his smile. I cannot help myself. This too, I remember. I cannot resist it.

It’s good to see him again. I quickly notice his shiner is gone and that he’s wearing his blood-colored keffiyeh around his neck as a sling supporting his left arm. He has no more bandages, his arm is not longer immobilized and most of the time he leaves it in his scarf. It seems that it hurt less, like that. But he can use it anyway.  
\- Glad to see you back with us, mate. I was a little worried, with our butcher of a doctor.

Doc, who was just now walking behind him, pinches his buttocks. He jumps and his expression makes me laugh. He smiles, rubbing his ass.  
\- Oops, she heard.  
\- Erk, I’ll make you pay for this, she says.  
\- Whenever you want, sweetheart, he answers with a big smile full of innuendos.

That too, I remember.

Slowly, there is a sense of camaraderie that resurfaces. I rebuild a mind map of the members of the Company, of their relationship. When I put the key to my mind under the doormat, Erk and Doc were a couple. Apparently they still are. The smaller with the taller. Looks a bit weird…

And then I forget all my questions, because suddenly the whole Company is in my room. Well, it feels like it is. Even Mike, not on radio watch. I also see two gray paws on the edge of my bed, two yellow eyes and a cold nose. It’s Yaka. The smarter of the two. I stroke her head.

One person is missing. Actually, I’ve been looking for black eyes for a while now. Kris sees my gaze circling around the people in the room, he whispers a “later” to me, so I enjoy the displays of friendship, of camaraderie from my brothers in arms.

Later, it’s dark. I can still taste Cook’s chicken broth in my mouth. Silent Cook, who, without uttering a word, brought me his miracle recipe for the sick: a very rich soup, with baby onions, very small bits of chicken, microscopic pasta and salt. There is nothing better to get your stomach going again.

It’s dark because there’s no lights outside, and neither in my room. I’m about to fall asleep when I hear a rustle. I look for a weapon, yank a monitor cable, now off, take it in my hands, ready to use as a garrote, while still lying down. I wait.  
\- It’s me, Tugdual.

She has a way of pronouncing my name, with her velvet voice, that makes me feel… giddy. And, right now, there is no steel under the velvet. I let go of my garrote. She puts her beautiful butt on the bed, leans in and kisses me softly. I embrace her, I breathe her scent. She smells of sand, gunpowder, lily.  
\- I missed you, Tugdual.  
\- I missed you too.


	23. Chapter 23

I’ve just reread all I had written. Especially when the Icelanders came to the Company, because it’s the only thing I don’t remember. Pity, because that must have been spectacular, the death of the two scumbags.

On the other hand, by rereading the rest, I can put in images and then, yes, memories that are really mine.

The penultimate chapter is not my writing. Kris? Erk? Tito? Who else? It doesn’t matter.

Oooh, the last chapter. Oh my goodness, so sappy, so saccharine, so ridiculous, damn it… What really went through my head at the time? I’m going to say it’s because of the head injury…

* *

From the moment I opened my eyes, Erk healed my head again, thinking he could give me back my memories. But well, so far, no luck. I mean, everything came back, except for those minutes the day they arrived. Between the gunshot, which I remember, and the graves. Because I also remember bugging when seeing the giant shirtless. It was the first time I’d seen the whole luminous bird. Well, almost, since the bird’s tail disappears under the belt of his pants.

After one single day where, like Erk, I couldn’t stand sitting in bed doing nothing, Doc kicked me out, ordering me to see her or the Viking if my vision was blurry, if I was seeing black midges, or white sparks or if I had a headache.  
\- What if I have all of it at once, Doc? I said innocently.  
\- In that case, there’s only one solution.  
\- Oh? Which one?  
\- Removal.  
\- Removal… of what? I was mighty suspicious.  
\- Of your head, Archer.

I didn’t find her joke funny.

I went back to the room I shared with the others NCOs: the two sergeants, Curly and Shorn, and two other corporals, Stig and Dio, a tall Senegalese. The fourth corporal is Mac, the Italian. Even though she is married to Bloody Mary, there is no room to spare for a couple, so she sleeps in the girls’ room, the only one with eight berths.

So, if you count right, you’ll know that Lin said there were six of us to each room and that here, with Mac in the girls’ room, we’re down to five. Well, berth number 6 is for Fatso. Since his room is now the Company’s office, he’s sleeping with the NCOs.

Why a NCO room: because when one of us is needed, the guys know where to find us.

And why is Mac not sleeping with us, since the showers are mixed? Well, because we have to be able to talk between guys, just as they need to talk between girls. Seems it’s important for our psychological balance to be together. It suits me. There are things the girls don’t need to hear. Nor see. And I imagine it’s the same on the other side.

We received the bikes the day I opened my eyes. Erk and I, with little use so far, war wise, found ourselves repainting them, each our own. He had placed me just in front of the flagpole. The problem is that, at the foot of that mast, on a stake a little over a meter high, is my helmet. The one that was shot through.

So right now, while I paint one of the twelve Kawasaki bikes, I can see my holed helmet.  
\- Erk?  
\- Yes? He is focused on his painting, he sounds somewhat distant.  
\- Why is my helmet there?

He stops, stares at me. Damn those eyes! Real lasers. I can’t look away. Then his smile lights up his face and I forget my question. How the fuck is he doing that? I’m not sexually attracted to guys, otherwise Tito and I would have been a pair a long time ago, but in front of the Viking, I feel like a maiden… I think that if he confessed to me all at once that he was attracted to me and offered to lay with me, I might say yes. I get sidetracked and digress, as always with the Icelanders. Fuck!

Anyway, he smiles at me, I lose my train of thought. Like me, he’s wearing his bush hat, because the sun is quite punishing. All I see is his mouth and his damn smile. And his two eyes that pierce me.  
\- Your helmet, Archer, will serve as an example. I found out that some of you are a little lax in wearing it properly. Too bad you’re the one who got it.  
\- It looks a bit too much like a tombstone, you know, like in the old movies about the first Vietnam war, or something. It’s a bit macabre.

He looks at me, thoughtful.  
\- If you want, I can put a sign: “Here lies Archer’s memory, killed in action”  
\- Pfft, jackass!

It makes him laugh.  
\- Erk?  
\- What else, mate?  
\- The bikes? They’re a bit too… plain?

His is done, so is mine and it’s true that they look good on the sand, but when I think about it, there are fifty shades of ocher on the ground here.  
\- I tend to agree with you. Let’s see if we have any black or gray paint, we’ll play Michelangelo.

We found some gray paint, mixed it with the ocher paint, with variations, and we had fun smearing the bikes haphazardly. For sure not two are the same. Erk impersonated Dali, wiggling his mustache and rolling his R’s, and Lin, passing by, shook her head, grumbling that it was high time those two assholes were back on patrol.

I took this down time opportunity to ask Erk questions.  
\- Erk, a silly question for you. I don’t know why, it’s been growing on me since that morning: how did you manage to put your hair in a bun one-handed?

He looks at me with wide eyes, flabbergasted, then he bursts out laughing.  
\- I have a little brother.  
\- But.. he was at the mess long before you were…  
\- He woke me and had combed my hair and done the bun before he joined you. I just had to freshen up, get clothed and drag myself to the mess hall… And to answer the question you are not asking yourself, he was the one helping me shower at night.  
\- Oh.

I fell silent for a while, staring at him. He had some paint on his right cheek. Since I had stopped painting for a while, he looked at me strangely.  
\- What’s wrong mate?  
\- Tell me, why did Lu– Higgins shoot your brother? Do we know why?  
\- Not really. Lin thinks she didn’t adjust to the way we operate and that asshole bounty hunter must have made her an interesting offer, like split the bounty, if she would help. Or he had promised to get her out of Afghanistan. But I wonder if there isn’t some deeper.  
\- How so?  
\- Do you find it rational to believe that shooting your senior officer will allow you to return home while being safe from the effects of the warrant?  
\- No, not really. Indeed. Maybe she was psychologically unbalanced?  
\- Yeah… or else… No, that doesn’t make sense.  
\- What?  
\- I was wondering… You wouldn’t know if, by any chance, she had an affair with the former Captain or the Lieutenant?  
\- The Lieutenant, no. He was a sadist, a bully, and the girls avoided him like the plague and cholera combined. Our homos too. Even some guys lighter or smaller than him. Gender didn’t matter to him, as long as it relieved him. And he had a sex drive the size of the sun. He cornered Tito once, and it’s a good thing he’s always armed, that one. Otherwise… I let a moment pass. See, this guy would have loved Kris. Because he’s your brother.

That sentence was a bit risky, but I wanted to get the point across. That guy had been using friendships to hurt, and he’d gone after Tito to hurt me. Erk didn’t seem to react.  
\- Bad guy, then. Ah, his voice is a bit flat. It touched him…  
\- Yeah, a scumbag. A real bastard. The Captain, on the other hand… A little more proper for that, but he sometimes would use his rank to get what he wanted. Why?  
\- Because I thought she might have wanted to avenge them, but those responsible for that are Lin and I, not Kris.  
\- Unless she wanted to make both of you suffer, as she would have suffered from the death of her lover. There maybe be jealousy, too.  
\- Ah? Towards whom?

Here, I hesitate a bit. Because Erk never knew of Tito’s and Baby Jane’s tenderness when we first came home from the SRH, when they watched over him at night. And then Erk had never done anything towards her.  
\- Baby Jane.  
\- But why?

And I tell him about that night. About the little English porcelain doll of a girl who took turns in sick bay to talk to him and reassure him. About the looks she gives him as soon as his back is turned.

He blushes and the thin scar on his left cheek, received while escaping from the SRH, appears.  
\- But I haven’t done anything towards her…  
\- I know you didn’t… Let’s say Doc is the first one and you waited to be out of recovery to…  
\- No, that’s not quite it. I couldn’t throw myself at the girls as soon as we arrived, that would have been mighty inappropriate. But I don’t understand why she would be jealous of something that didn’t exist…  
\- What can I say? The female psyche is way too complex for us, don’t you think?

And on that macho comment – shame on me – we laughed and went back to slathering ocher paint on black and green bikes.

It was a very strange visitor who interrupted our artistry.


	24. Chapter 24

So, we were smearing our third or fourth bike each, we were starting to be the same color as the bikes, on the face, hands and the old t-shirts over our uniform sweaters – we are in November, I think, and it’s starting to get nippy at times – and I was seeing Erk putting his arm back in his sling most of the time. He was getting tired.

It was calm, and then suddenly it wasn’t anymore. Tito was on guard duty at the first ditch, Erk’s Ditch, as it’s called, and told me about the guy’s arrival.

Tito had heard some pebbles roll and a horse snort. On alert – and thanking the horse – he warned Mike, in the Ops room, who alerted the others. He saw the horseman arrive. The guy was riding a big black horse. A handsome stallion, Baby Jane told us when she saw it.

He had a strange look: safari jacket, sand-colored pants and yellow leather lace-up boots, a beige and white scarf on his head and a bandolier across his chest. He reminded me of Lawrence of Arabia, I’m not sure why… He was carrying an ancient submachine gun and Tito saw, wrapped around the barrel, an ivory-grain rosary.

In English, the guy asked to speak to our boss, Tito replied that he could speak to him. The guy stared him down. But since he had sunglasses that hid his eyes and that the rest of his face was masked by the scarf, Tito assumed he was being stared down. The guy told him he wanted to talk to the boss again, and Tito said the same again.  
\- The real boss, said the guy. The tall blond.

“Ah”, Tito thought “another one who relies on physical characteristics to know who’s who”. And then the Albanian remembered Erk’s remark, when he had welcomed the R&R. Remark I had told him about, hoping he could shed light on it, but _nada_. _Zilch_. Zero.

In _argot_ , via the throat mic, he warned that the visitor wanted to speak to the Viking, whom he believed to be the leader.

And we heard Lin yell:  
\- Michelangelo and Picasso, in my office!  
\- Who’s Picasso, who’s Michelangelo, in your opinion, Erk? I asked as I stood up to obey.  
\- You’re Picasso, you already have your head upside down, he replied, touching my scar.

My head is shaved, and my hair slowly growing back. I may have to leave them long to hide the bullet mark.

So, we joined Lin in her office and she sent us to clean up and arm and armor ourselves.

We all got set up the same way, bulletproof/tactical vest, heavy helmet, sweater and jacket, sunglasses, dried blood keffiyeh, Behemoth on the thigh and EMA 7 across the chest, in port arms position.

We were a squad of eight, Lin, Kris, Erk, Curly, Bloody Mary, Dio, Baby Jane and myself, on two files. Obeying Kris’s orders, we marched to Erk’s Ditch. We looked mighty good, Tito told me later.

When we got there, we lined up in two ranks of four and stood at attention. In his drill sergeant voice, Kris, behind his giant of a brother, said: “At ease” and with a beautiful ensemble and that wonderful noise made by soldiers making the same gesture together, we obeyed.

The rider looked at us, surprised. His head didn’t move, but I imagine his eyes must have shifted from on to the other. We could tell his attention was on the giant. He sat up in his saddle.  
\- Stop dealing with the Roses & Rifles.

Erk raised an eyebrow behind his Aviators. Lin, behind me, huffed very lightly. We stayed still, attentive, and he finally turned his horse around and walked away, turning his back to us, looking real cool. If we still had had the bastard Lieutenant, the guy would have been shot dead.

We waited until he was gone, then Kris marched us back to base.

Back to the inner courtyard, Lin went back to her office, we went to drop our weapons and equipments in the armory, except for the Behemoth, of course. Even Erk and I carried them, and we faced nothing more dangerous than trial bikes.

That evening, in the mess hall at dinner, Lin told us that we would have a visit from the R&R the next day. She told us that is was possible that some of the things they would tell us would be highly confidential, ultra sensitive and not to be surprised if we were not invited to the briefing.

We called the patrol back, Puma this time around, then Erk and I got back to making a ocher mess of black and green trial bikes.  
\- Say, Archer, a while ago, when I touched your scar, I found it a little too hot. Go see Doc, I think you have a bit of a fever. And go get pampered by Lin for a bit afterwards. I think she needs it too.  
\- You’re playing the Madam, now, Erk?

He narrowed his eyes, vaguely angry.  
\- You want me to carry you to sick bay, asshole? Or would you rather go on your own two legs like a big boy?  
\- Oh, don’t get upset like that, m…

I was going to call my senior officer “mate”. Oops. I quickly corrected myself. I didn’t salute, but I stood at attention. He’s so cool with the way he deals with us that we tend to forget his rank.  
\- The Company needs strong men, not guys who drop like flies because of a little fever. So go see Doc or I’ll take you in a fireman carry all the way to sick bay.

I obeyed right away. The laundry chore, promised ten days earlier and never done, was not something I was keen on doing too soon. Since I don’t have allergies, she gave me ibuprofen and willow bark tea for two days.  
\- But, Doc, I don’t have allergies…  
\- Look, Archer, ibuprofen is efficient, but none too good for your stomach. So, I’d like you to start with the tea and some rest. Take ibuprofen if your temperature reaches 39°C. I know Lin has an essential oil blend for the brothers, ask her to massage your back with it.  
\- What’s it with you people, about Lin and I?  
\- Well, you did… you know… spend a night with her?  
\- So? It was only one night, so I can’t see…

She tilted her head, finding me a little slow to understand, I guess. Then I remembered kisses and caresses, at night, in sick bay. I also remembered a single phrase when I was in a coma: “come back to me, Tugdual”. I blushed, rubbed my head, laughed like an idiot and went to find my Captain.  
\- Who sent you, Archer? I’m busy right now.  
\- Erk. And Doc. And I think Fatso can work on his own, right?

The Lieutenant smiled and nodded, confirming.  
\- Remember that I watch over your well-being, Captain. And he is part of the remedies. I understand it is natural medicine.

His smile is so full of innuendo that Lin blushes. Our badass Captain, the Blood Lily, turning almost scarlet! Goddamn, you have to see it to believe it.  
\- What’s it with you people, about Archer and I?  
\- That’s exactly what I told Erk and Doc, I said, giving my two cents.

The look she shot me made me shrink, which will be problematic for the rest of the agenda, and I tried to hide into the wall, so she would temporarily forget about me.  
\- Captain, said Fatso, since your arrival, you’ve brought out the good in us. I’ll tell you about your predecessor and my co-lieutenant, if you don’t mind. Your predecessor was more than happy to leave discipline in the hand of my colleague and closed his eyes to complaints from subordinates. When he wanted a girl, he would pressure her until she gave in, for peace. He would, at times, exert physical pressure. He would never touch married women: Ketchup, Bloody Mary and Mac. Marriage was sacred to him. Higgins liked him some, I understand. But I am not sure she played with a full deck.

That little remark clicked. Was it the beginning of an answer as to why she shot Kris? Fatso went on.  
\- The Lieutenant. He was a true sleazeball, a filthy bastard, and I would almost regret for this death to have been so quick. Almost. Because I know I would stoop to his level if I truly wanted to.

He ran his hand over his face, took a sip of water.  
\- All the girls were his prey and he didn’t pressure. He took. Gays too, because they’re used to take cocks, so what’s one more eh? That was his way of doing. I think only Mac and Tito escaped him. Tito because, as a good Albanian, he always has a knife on him and threatened to cut off his balls and serve them to him in Albanian _gulash_. And Mac…

He smiled, remembering. I did, too.  
\- Mac, after removing his hand from her butt, asked if they could forget their ranks. Generally it means fighting.

Lin nodded her knowledge of that.  
\- He said yes, she told him that if he could get both her shoulders to touch the ground, she would cleave for him right where she fell. She never had to.  
\- We’ve seen what she’s capable of, Lin said. I believe only Erk can knock her down, and that’s because he’s the only one who can lift her.  
\- Exactly. After women and gays, he would prey on men shorter or lighter than himself, and chose his victims to hurt someone else. If he had known the brothers, he would have raped Kris to hurt Erk. Because, let’s be blunt about it, it was rape. But the only one who could have punished him closed his eyes.

He stared straight at Lin.  
\- Since you’ve been here, Captain, we can once again display friendships, sexual orientation, even weaknesses, without fear that they will be used against us. Girls can once again turn down an unwanted lover without fear of any reaction other than sad puppy eyes.  
\- I don’t see the connection with…  
\- I’m getting there. Since your arrival, in addition to his and the moral and ethical code you are trying to instill in us, we can love again, and new love is blooming, hesitant or passionate. But you, you were all alone. So when, some time ago, the bunk of the corporal lurking on your right stayed empty for a whole night, and when, at breakfast he had a silly smile on his ugly mug – I shot him a grimace, I’m not ugly. I’m not in the same league as Kris, but still… – and when there was a certain spring to your step despite the brothers’ injuries, we added 2 and 2, came up with 4 and were happy for you, Captain. And since we’re hopeless romantics, he added with a wry smile, we want it to continue, happy ending and the whole shebang.  
\- I’m a bit old for the “children” part of the whole shebang…  
\- Come on, Lin, you have about fifty children, here!  
\- Quite right.

She looked at Fatso for a moment, then walked over to kiss him on the cheek, making him blush.

Then, winking at him, she grabbed my hand and dragged me – I didn’t put much of a resistance, eh? – to her room. After all, she had to give me a massage, doctor’s orders.

* *

You may have noticed that while the Company calls the Viking “Erk”, Kris and Lin call him “Erik”, except in front of foreigners (Elise for example) for the sake of consistency. You also might have noticed that, out of surprise, Lin call him “Erik” in front of Elise. I wondered why these two didn’t use his nickname. And then I got it: they’ve known him since childhood (birth even), using his real name, when “Erk” is the nickname the Company gave him.

So, that makes sense.

On that note, good night, eh?


	25. Chapter 25

The next day, when I woke up, I was alone in her bed but the sheet was still warm. I buried my nose in it. She smells so nice. I love her mix of sand, powder – I mean cordite, gunpowder – and flower.

I was supposed to rest, but I was too curious as to why the R&R were coming back. So I got up, dragged myself to the showers, dressed in the NCOs room, where my very neatly-made, undisturbed bed, taunted me. Shit! Lin’s bed…

I quickly went back there to make her bed, took the opportunity to change the sheets. I wasn’t going to act like a boor, right. I took my clothes from the day before, tidied up the room, made all traces of my passage disappear. Not for secrecy, since apparently the whole Company knew about it. Out of courtesy.

I was quite embarrassed, since in theory I was supposed to rest. Which meant no painting either. It sorta pissed me off, because painting was a way of keeping busy. It was relaxing, in my mind, to hide the black and apple green with fifty shades of ocher. I tried to make Doc recant, but _macache_ , nothing I could do about it. Apparently, painting in the sun is bad for me. It’s probably true, I ain’t no doctor.

So I went to the mess hall, hoping I could hide in a corner and listen in the discussion. I was partially successful since Erk, on welcome duty, found me and asked me to put on my uniform.

Here, it means that on the ocher fatigues, we were going to wear, in addition to the sweater – cos, since I came back from my trip to boxers’ paradise, we got even closer to winter – the crested jacket, the beret and keffiyeh, both dried-blood colored.

And there we were, pretty as two pictures, cooling our heels where the first R&R copters had landed. This time it was broad daylight, the weather was fine, the sky was the color of the Viking’s eyes and there was no wind.

Like the last time, it was an E-assault that landed. And like last time, after the turbine stopped, it was a woman who was first out. She was taller than Miss Heavy Helmet and not in battle dress. She had on grey fatigues, a blue beret and a gun at her belt. A bit like us, except we carry our weapons on our thigh.

Behind her, however, the two guys who came out of the bird were walking armories. The first, in his early thirties, which made him just a little younger that I am, blond, squat, a small nose splint and two beautiful shiners. He looked a little taller than Igor but barely less wide. His eyes, slightly slit, made me think he was a Pole, or at least a Slav. And with his shiners, he looked like a corn-fed raccoon.

The other one… Funny, he reminded of Tito. He was also thin, slightly taller – because Tito is really small, right? – but he freaked me out as much as a rattlesnake would. Tito is closer to the black mamba. But this guy gave off the same vibes.

I didn’t have much time to dwell on the two dudes, because Erk walked over to the R&R with his arms wide open and his happy smile on his face. He waited until they were no longer under the blades, and good thing he did, because he grabbed the woman by the waist and lifted her up to kiss her. I saw him aim for the pretty mouth, wondered what kind of fuck-up he was going to pull and then, at the last moment, the both of them turned their heads and Erk kissed the officer’s cheek.  
\- Katja! My beautiful Katja! Have you finally decided to marry me, then? he asked, putting her down.  
\- Absolutely, Erk, I’ve come to ask Lin for your hand.  
\- There’s no need, here it is. And I’m old enough, now, to give it all on my own.  
\- Ah, you’ve finally stopped growing? About time, if you ask me!  
\- Yeah, Lin said no more soup for me, he replied with a faux pout of sadness.  
\- Poor lil’ tadpole! You do look malnourished, all skinny…

I realized, looking at him in front of us, putting his arm around the shoulders of the young woman who didn’t do anything against it, that it was a game. I had believed it at one point. Well, almost. Well, yes, I did.

I let the walking armories pass and followed. The Pole had a smile on his face, it seemed the banter between Katja and Erk made him laugh. The rattlesnake seemed to have trouble with it.

The beautiful Katja stared at the giant. He raised a questioning eyebrow.  
\- Oh, Elise told me you looked like shit.  
\- Thanks…  
\- Glad to see you’re better, though, she said with a smile. Will you tell me about it, Erk?  
\- Listen, I’m not ready to talk about it just yet. He looked away. Let’s say the Sons of the Roumi’s Hell have stopped being a thorn in our side. Definitively.  
\- Oh oh, you’re sounding a bit shellshocked…

She looked worried, he sneered.  
\- Sweetheart, if I had to trigger a PTSD each time, with everything I’ve been through, I would have been given a tuxedo with the sleeves that tie at the back a long time ago. And then, don’t worry, I have my own private nanny.

Eventually I understood he was talking about the straightjacket. On the other hand, “everything he’s been through”. He’s what, 25 years old, and… and then his scars come back to me. Yeah. I imagine they didn’t appear like that, for no reason. They have a story, of course. The two that bother me the most, let’s say, are on his back: the four parallel lines, so different from our usual soldier’s wounds. And then that twisted star on his right shoulder. That too is not common, for a scar.  
\- Katja, Erk whispered to the lovely officer, is that Vlad, the raccoon with you?

If you’re wondering how I know what they’re whispering to each other, it’s because throat mics and earpieces are compulsory out of the premises. Since Erk’s was kidnapped.  
\- Yeah, why? she replied the same way. Are you afraid he’ll beat you up for hitting on me?  
\- No, his nose-splint has been staring at me for a while now. I wasn’t sure it was him, with his built-in sunglasses. I’m itching to heal him.  
\- Ah, yes, I remember this weird attraction to injuries.  
\- I can’t help it. Sometimes, it drives me crazy, not being able to do anything. Do you think I can try and heal him?  
\- You’ll have to surprise him, then, you know what he thinks about sorcerers.  
\- Yeah…

Erk stopped in his tracks, letting Katja take two steps before stopping as well. He turned to the two men, speaking in a normal voice.  
\- Sorry guys, I was so dazzled by the beautiful Katja that… and he shrugged with a big sheepish smile, then reached out with his right hand.

The Pole, Vlad then, returned his smile and extended his hand. I could then assume they knew each other. Erk grabbed the hand, started to squeeze it, then pulled lightly, knocking the Pole off balance and bringing him in range. The giant’s left hand shot out and he put two fingers on the guy’s forehead, one above each eye. His fingers glowed and the raccoon was gone. The rattlesnake stiffened.  
\- _Pierdol się_ , Erk! You know I hate it! Damn you!  
\- Don’t say thank you, pal, said the Viking with one of the most sardonic smiles I’ve ever seen.  
\- Go to hell and burn, damn sorcerer!  
\- Ain’t been invited yet, mate.

He leaned over him, staring.  
\- If you continue with your rudeness, man, I’ll make you drink your coffee without sugar. And through a funnel.  
\- Idiot… But I saw a smile on the Pole’s face. You truly are the king of assholes, Erk.  
\- I like you too, Vlad. You can take your disguise off, now.  
\- My… Oh, yes, the splint.

I noticed the splint isn’t white, it’s… camouflage, methinks. A special R&R model? Or a Vlad model? Because, when I finally saw his nose, I could tell it wasn’t the first time it had been broken.

With all that bullshit, we’d reached the barbican, where we didn’t exchanges secret codes with JD, as he saw us coming. There aren’t so many of us that we don’t all know each other by sight. It’s different at night.

We gathered in the mess hall, Katja looked a little surprised to see that most of us were here. Lin let a sigh out.  
\- Sorry, guys, for once it will be a small group. I want everyone out, including Cook and the girls.  
\- But Lin, how am I getting lunch ready? Ketchup moaned. She often is the voice of silent Cook.  
\- We will eat a cold meal, you will make us sandwiches. I want Dio and Mac at the door, to keep the curious out.

So there remained Lin and the three Lieutenants, the two sergeants and Stig and I, the last two corporals. Erk and the sergeants went to get some coffee and he put the sugar bowl in front of the Pole with a big smirk. Vlad showed him the full length of his middle finger and put five lumps of sugar in his cup. Ugh! Unsweetened coffee is not good, but too sweet is yucky too. Well, to each his own taste. Erk ruffled his hair, Vlad said nothing. Yeah, they do know each other, those two.

The rattlesnake sat stiff as a stake in front of his cup of coffee. Katja introduced her team, I learned his name was Alkan. He looked nervous, that dude. As nervous, after all, as a rattlesnake in the midst of a herd of horses that are not afraid of him.

Then Katja, well, Captain Haïmalin, got to the heart of the matter and asked for a very precise description of the guy on the horse. Since we had been concentrating on being good little soldiers, we hadn’t necessarily paid attention.  
\- Curly, get me Tito.

When the Albanian entered the mess hall, Alkan stiffened – he will end up being so stiff we will be able to use him to remove cobwebs by grabbing him by the ankles – and put his hand on a pocket. Kris casually put his hand on his and squeezed a little. Alkan frowned and let go of his pocket.  
\- Relax, friend. Did you swallow a broomstick, or what? the Lieutenant said very quietly.

The other stared at him without seeming to understand. Kris let him go and he put his hand back on the table.

Meanwhile, Tito had raised a dismissive eyebrow and ignored him. What was going on here?!

Tito, at Lin’s request, very carefully described the copy of Lawrence of Arabia, or El Aurens as he was once called. At the mention of the head scarf, Katja turned a little paler still. She took a sip of coffee to ground herself and winced. It must have been cold so Erk, the perfect hostess, poured her hot coffee. She thanked him absently, he leaned over to whisper something flirtatious in her ear. No doubt he wanted to make her laugh and change her mind.  
\- Eiríkur… she whispered.

He immediately stopped, put the coffee pot down and sat, perfectly behaved. He didn’t hit on Katja for the rest of the meeting. I don’t know what that word means, but the result is… radical!

She waited for Tito to go out. He glanced at the Viking, trying to make him intervene on his behalf but _macache_.  
\- Well. Lin, this guy is a Turban [she pronounces it Turbann]. It was… it was one of the best of our units. One day, they disappeared during a mission, we thought they had been killed in action. But they resurfaced and reconnected. Our goals are similar, but their methods are much more… violent? Pragmatic? They are dangerous. Erk?  
\- Yes Katja?

Even though she used his nickname, he’s still very pro.  
\- The second lieut… Elise told me you were in stealth mode because you had a sniper on you…  
\- Actually, during a patrol to the south, we found, on the side in the mountain facing us, and completely by accident, traces of occupation from a sniper.  
\- It can’t be a Turban, Vlad said.  
\- Vlad, the traces were discreet. It was Baby Jane, our own sniper, who found them. She was looking for a perch and…  
\- How do you know it was a Turban?  
\- I didn’t say it was. Just that we had a sniper on us. But when a guy, a Turban, shows up after the passage of two of your birds and tells us not to have anything to do with you anymore, well… One plus one plus one is often three, around here.  
\- Fine, Katja said. Lin, listen, they are very, very dangerous, OK? They are able to stay hidden under the snow for a whole day just so they can kill a guy.  
\- Lucky for us we rarely trudge through snow, then, Kris said.

Katja gave him a vaguely disgusted look.  
\- Oh, I’m not stupid either, he replied. I know that a guy who can lie face down in the snow for ten hours must find camping in the Afghan mountains below the snow line a piece of cake.  
\- Lin, you really need to be careful. I don’t think they will come after you, since you’re trying to keep peace around here. But they… We are their target, if I understood correctly. So if you get in their way…  
\- Katja, tell Simo he can count on us if needed. And what we’ll do is use our patrols to try and find traces of these guys. And since we made friends with the Pashtuns around here, we may be able to get some information.  
\- Thanks Lin. I wasn’t expecting so much from you.

We started getting out. Tito was waiting for us in the yard, ears and eyes on the lookout.

And then we heard three syllables. And Tito jumped up.

_[Pierdol się_ : polish : fuck you]


	26. Chapter 26

The three syllables sounded like “toorpekesh“ but I’m none too sure about it. Still, Tito jumped up to stop in front of Alkan, barely three feet away from him.

They exchanged some words and they understood each other very well. So, Alkan is from Albania, too.

The tone rose, the gestures became aggressive. There was Katja’s name and Alkan’s finger pointed at Erk, who raised an eyebrow in surprise, there was Tito’s middle finger brandished like a flag and I distinctly heard the words “homo” and “kanun”.

And suddenly, the two guys came to blows. Tito had the advantage of his small size and carrying only his Behemoth, Alkan that of his larger size and strength.

I must admit Tito made us proud. In any case, he did justice to the teaching of the Icelanders, because once or twice he got out of a difficult situation with a vicious veehema blow. He even threw the other one, who picked himself up like a cat and went back to it.

I was tempted at one point to pull them apart, I even started to take a step forward, but Kris put his arm in front of me. I looked at him without understanding.  
\- I don’t approve, but it’s sometimes the only way to end a quarrel, he whispered in my ear. And look at my brother, he’s ready to intervene.

And indeed, I could see the Viking who had come within range of the fight. What I could also see was the giant’s glare. He was standing on the ball on his feet, ready to rush to the fighters.

The others had separated by camp, subconsciously, although it didn’t much show. I returned my attention to the two Albanians. These two jerks had blood on their faces, knuckles completely scratched, Tito was favoring his right leg, Alkan his left arm.

Suddenly, the Albanians’ hot blood caught fire and two blades sprang out, the two assholes pounced on each other, lethal weapon in hand.

Erk let out an angry roar, nabbed them by the collar before they made contact and lifted them off the ground, before our astonished eyes. He threw Tito in my direction, I caught my buddy and then I had to hold him back, with Kris’s help, because his feet had barely touched the ground that he was trying to jump back into the fray.

Alkan flew towards Katja who stepped aside and Vlad received his own Albanian and, for the exact same reason, had to hold him back.

The two opponents were close to each other and facing a Viking on the edge of berserker rage. We saw him take a deep breath and the he let out a roar, the mighty roar of a dragon. Like that, just a howl, without words. Even Kris and Lin looked surprised. Well, shit…

Second deep breath, we prepared ourselves for another roar. But the giant straightened up, put his keffiyeh back in a sling and slipped his left arm into it. Ouch.  
\- I can understand you wanting to fight it out, but knives are a no-no.

Damn, he looked so calm. It was creepy, right after the roar and the show of force. Because my little mate Tito still weighs 60kg and the Viking lifted them at arm’s length, those sixty kilos and when I received those same kilos, I felt the power of the throw. And because Alkan, in my opinion, must be around 80kg with all the shit on his back and, similarly, Erk lifted those kilos at arm’s length. And Vlad, receiving his colleague, had to put a foot back to compensate.

That Erk could have done that with his injured arm freaked me out too. I remembered berserkers didn’t feel pain or exhaustion and would fight until they died from their injuries or fatigue…  
\- Now you are going to explain to all of us why you decided to fuck each other up like that. Even though, Alkan, I heard the insult you hurled at Tito. Even though, Tito, I saw your finger.

The two guys looked at each other and, perfectly in sync, bit their lower lips and finally spoke.  
\- It’s the Kanun, they said in unison.

Erk turned to Tito for an explanation  
\- It’s the law of the mountains, Erk. The Kanun.  
\- That’s a hell of an explanation! Be clearer!  
\- It’s something for our country. You can’t understand.

Erk continued to demand an explanation and the two assholes repeated over and over: “It’s the Kanun” while Lin and Katja were chatting quickly in a language I didn’t understand. What I understood, however, was how well the Icelanders, Katja and Vlad knew and trusted each other. Normally, no officer would ever let one from another corps berate his subordinate. But I have to admit that an angry Viking is fucking efficient.

Then the sentence fell.  
\- Tito, I am disappointed.

Oh the hurt in my buddy’s eyes… Heartbroken by the remark from the man he was in love with. I thought I saw a little suspicious moisture at the corner of his eyes.  
\- Four days in the pit. From right now!  
\- But, Erk, I wanted to plead his case, it’s too cold at night.  
\- Why don’t you share his punishment, then you’ll keep warm together!

Oh shit! He was upset still. He’s hurtful in this case. Then he blames himself and apologizes afterwards. But now, the anger was still there. And I was somewhat fuming, too.  
\- Fine, I’ll do that! I replied.  
\- No, Tudic, Tito whispered, you can’t. Your head…  
\- Shut your mouth, idiot, I replied. I do what I want.

Lin intervened. She is the only one who can cancel a punishment meted out by her Icelandic Lieutenants but she rarely does. And she didn’t this time. She just forbade me to follow Tito, because of my head. And I hesitated to rebel. It would have sent me straight to the pit with Tito, but I did have a headache.

In the meantime, Katja was giving Alkan a piece of her mind and he looked quite miserable, that moron. I don’t know what she said, but he walked over to Tito who bristled – I was still holding him, not realizing it. He turned to Katja, probably hoping he wouldn’t have to go all the way. She remained steadfast. Even Vlad looked angry with him.

He mumbled a few words in Albanian, Katja said, in English: “I didn’t hear!” Her voice split the air, like the crack of a whip.  
\- I apologize, he mumbled a little more clearly, in English.

Tito greeted him with an unpleasant smirk but saw Erk’s very blue eyes on him. He seemed to mull for a moment then extended his hand to his compatriot.  
\- So do I, Alkan, I apologize.

They shook hands. Would they be friends? Never. But at least they would separate a little less stupid than before.

Curly took Tito to the pit, Erk offered Katja the possibility of him healing Alkan but that moron shook his head muttering in Albanian – he said sorcerer, too, Tito told me when I later asked him to translate – and since the Viking had a persistent ache in his shoulder, he let go.

The R&R went back to their base, wherever it is. I thought it very unfair for Alkan not to be punished but Lin, who read my expression, explained to me that he would get six days of the R&R’s pit equivalent for starting the fight.

It was barely noon. We had a cold lunch, as predicted. There was hot soup, still. I asked Cook to save some from Tito, along with some bread.

Lin and Doc kept me busy for a good part of the afternoon and I couldn’t get my buddy his hot soup. When I finally could go and get it, Cook told me Erk had already taken it.

I was downright fuming. It was going to be cold, Erk could still let my buddy drink something warm, for fuck’s sake! Besides, he was hurt, he needed warmth. I grabbed a spare blanket and walked angrily over to the pit, the famous pit Erk had dug in his fury, when it was still hot in the day. It seemed like ages ago.

At the edge of the pit, I found Erk sitting, his legs dangling inside, his left arm still in a sling.  
\- What are you doing here? I asked, surly. And why did you nab the soup I had…  
\- Sit down, Archer.  
\- Explain yourself, Erk.  
\- Not to a subordinate and not until you have obeyed.

His tone was so final I obeyed. I was furious but, leaning over to see my buddy, I noticed two things: that he had a blanket over his shoulder and “my” bowl of soup in his hands and that my attitude was childish.  
\- Sorry, Erk.  
\- Actually, it’s good you’re here, I can apologize.  
\- Erk, may I speak freely?  
\- I’m listening.  
\- It’s fine to apologize, but it would be better if you didn’t have to, by avoiding hurting us, for instance.  
\- You’re quite right, mate, but as long as you act like idiots, it might be difficult to avoid.  
\- But Tito didn’t act stupidly, he was provoked…  
\- You certainly know how to make the right remark at the right time. Tito, care to explain what the Kanun is?

My buddy didn’t open his mouth, Erk leaned over.  
\- This is an order, Tito, not a request.

He sighed, then:  
\- It is a very old law that governs social life in the Balkan Mountains and, therefore, northern Albania. It is a customary law from the Middle Ages, which sometimes takes precedence over national law.

He drank some soup.  
\- It is a set of rules which governs everyone’s place and behavior. Two important points: family and honor. Your banter with Katja offended him. Why? Is she married?  
\- Affianced. But it’s just a game between us, started before she met her Sean. They are well matched. Whereas she and I… she’s too small for me.  
\- Says the guy who is dating Doc, 1.55m on the best days, said Tito wryly.

Erk chuckled.  
\- So, if I get it right, he blamed you for my flirting.  
\- Not quite. He said “Shame on you” as he walked past you and, being a bit of a sucker, I wanted to defend your honor.  
\- Much ado about nothing, to quote the Bard, said Erk, shaking his head.  
\- It’s quite stronger in Albanian, especially for a fucking hick of a peasant from the North of the country. They are bat crazy up there.  
\- Something tells me you are a city dweller. From the south.  
\- Bullseye.  
\- But why did you come to blows? I understood he was calling you queer, but…  
\- As I said, family and honor. Homosexuality is not very family friendly, eh, at least in the sense they give it? And for them, it’s not honorable to be a man’s woman… Although the notion of honor is more... old fashioned.  
\- Wait, I said, I think I saw something like this in an old 2D movie. There are stories of blood debt, vendettas, and all that?  
\- Yeah, all that. The blood debts tended to wipe out families, so we set up a payment for the debt, with money, or something else.  
\- _Weregeld_ , the Viking muttered. I understand. It was abandoned by my ancestors a long while ago. But we had a bit of the same system. Back in the days when one less life could mean starvation or slavery… But that doesn’t explain why you pulled your knife, Tito.  
\- You’d rather he’d drawn blood, my blood, Erk?  
\- All in all, yes.

We exclaimed, Tito and I, not understanding.  
\- It’s simple. In a hand-to-hand fight, whoever draws his weapon the first recognizes his weakness AND looks like the complete asshole, since he no longer follows the rules. He’s the shame of his gang, his family… So if you had let Alkan draw blood, he would have looked the complete asshole and we could even have demanded a _weregeld_ out of him. Guys, whatever the offense, don’t escalate it but rather let the other one strike first. Defend yourself rather that attack first. That way, you always come out with clean hands. It’s not easy to follow, and sometimes you pay for it, but it’s worth it.  
\- And which of your scars, I said jokingly, was worth it, Erk?

He gave me a strange look.  
\- Right thigh. I defended the honor of a woman, it got me some hospital time and the lady’s favors. But above all, the other jerk lost the favors of both the lady and his friends.  
\- The lady’s favors, eh? I said, my tone full of innuendo.  
\- Yeah, for about as long as it took me to recover. She had a very flexible honor.

We exchanged a guy’s look and laugh.  
\- Well, he said getting up, Tito, your friend kindly brought you a second blanket, so you should have a good night’s sleep. Archer, you’ll be feeding him but don’t stuff his face. Since he won’t be moving for four days, we wouldn’t want to put him on a diet as soon as he comes out of the pit, right?

We returned to base.  
\- Erk, why don’t you lift his punishment?  
\- And why would I do that, mate? You noticed he didn’t ask.

I nodded.  
\- Look, Archer, we’ve been nice enough to you, but letting a stranger to the Company push him to draw his blade is unacceptable. If the other asshole is dumb enough to be offended by people’s sexual orientation, fuck him.

He paused. Then, with a smile:  
\- Which will be a hell of a conscience issue if he is homophobic.

I laughed.

* *

In the evening, I brought dinner to my buddy. As he was not answering my call, and without a hand light I couldn’t see anything, I went down the pit, with the knotted rope. I fumbled in the dark and touched a warm, half-conscious body.  
\- Tito?

He moaned. I must have hurt him. I touched his brow. He wasn’t just hot, he was boiling. And every time I touched him, he moaned.  
\- Fuck, Tito…

I cursed Erk for not healing him. I thought of a way to get my buddy out of here and take him to sick bay. It’s a testament to my injury putting my head upside down that I forgot that I had my throat mic on and that I could have called the Ops room for help.

I started by taking Tito’s belt off, it made him giggle like an idiot and he tried to undo mine.

I blamed it on his fever.

With his belt, I tied his writs together in front of him so I could take him on my back and keep my hands free.  
\- Didn’t know you were into bondage Tudic, he mumbled, giggling again and trying to kiss me.

I blamed it on his fever.

I undid my belt, which I kept in my hand, put my head through Tito’s arms and hoisted him onto my back. He made me an indecent proposal.

I blamed it on his fever.

I used my belt to block his legs and laboriously pulled myself up the rope. Fuck! Fortunately it is a knotted rope. And new. Because the two of us weighed about 140kg and we had to hope it would hold. Poor Tito was moaning in my ear the whole way up. So much so that, when I got to the top, I immediately put him down, wondering what was happening to him. Then I remembered that during the fight he had favored his right leg. Shiiit… maybe I made his injury worse.

I took him in my arms, his arms around my neck, to hold on, and ran as fast as I could to sick bay. Poll, on guard at the barbican, had the right reflex, when he saw us, to ask for people at sick bay via throat mic.

When I got here, Doc, Nanny, Erk and Lin were waiting for me. I put Tito on the table, grabbed the giant by his collar and pulled him of the room.  
\- Why didn’t you heal him earlier?! Huh?! The sentence was not enough?!  
\- Oh, you calm down, Tugdual Kerhervé, and right now!

With only one hand, he blocked both of mine.  
\- I have several answers, he resumed when I stopped struggling. He had lifted me up and my feet barely touched the ground. In no particular order: I’ve learned not to heal when I’m in pain, except a situation of life or death. He didn’t ask for it. I’m in pain. The other moron refused. You didn’t ask me either.

I winced. Shiiiiit…  
\- Sorry, Erk.

He let go of me.  
\- I’m so sorry, Erk. Say?  
\- Yes?  
\- Can you do something for him?  
\- We’ll see what Doc asks me. He has no allergies, so modern medicine works.  
\- But… your Gift?  
\- I’m in pain. And in that case, I risk transmitting my pain to him. I can’t help it, that’s how it is. The pain keeps me from concentrating and healing properly. Hence the case of life and death. Or an infection to be stopped, as for Fatso.  
\- And for his sentence? I dare to ask.

He looked at me for a long time, Lin by his side.  
\- Frankly, Kerhervé – this is serious, if he’s using my name – only the Captain can lift the punishment. As far as I am concerned, you’re on laundry duty tomorrow.


	27. Chapter 27

Tito did his sentence in sick bay, refusing Erk's healing. When I asked him why, he replied he'd rather spend his four days warm and in a good bed, even if it meant he would be in pain, rather than having to piss and the like in a small hole in the ground. It's true that the pit is closer to a roach motel than a palace, comfort-wise.  
\- Aren't you a bit of a masochist? I asked.

He looked away and then, looking down at his hands, answered me.  
\- You know, in my country where what I am is still not really accepted, you can say it comes with the territory.  
\- Yeah... While I think about it, buddy, you didn't tell me you were batting for... Forgive me. That you were homosexual. Do you want to tell me why?  
\- When did you learn?  
\- The night you watched over Erk by the river. When we got Fatso and the journalists out of the SRH fortress.  
\- Oh! I thought you knew...  
\- Come on, Tito, you know very well I never get involved in anybody's sex life.

Once again, he looked away. So I gently grabbed his chin and turned him towards me.  
\- Come on, pal, tell me why you never told me anything. I'm your buddy, your partner.  
\- Exactly.

Suddenly, I couldn't get it. It must have been visible because he continued.  
\- I like you very much, Tudic. You've always been the only one to see me as I am, without ever judging me.

I blushed at the compliment.  
\- And I need your manly friendship, clean, candid, untarnished, without mask. I was so afraid that if you knew, you would think all I wanted was to climb into your pants and I would lose this friendship that I hold so dear...  
\- And you didn't think that if I found out on my own, I might... I don't know, have a fit?

He blushed, eyes downcast.  
\- You are so cute, Tito. I smiled fondly. Oh, by the way, when I got you out of the pit, you hit on me like there was no tomorrow. And not just with words...  
\- No?!

He is mortified. I let him stew a little bit.  
\- Let me reassure you, I blamed it on your 39°C fever.  
\- 39°C!  
\- Yeah, when I pulled you out of the pit, you were hot, buddy, in every meaning possible.

He laughs weakly, so scarlet I hurt for him, he looks sunburned.  
\- Come on, have a good rest, enjoy your punishment.

And to make sure he truly feels uncomfortable, I kiss his forehead.

* *

Of course, I only got to see Tito on his second day of punishment, when I was no longer on laundry duty. Like I said when I first brought it up, that chore is kinda boring. But hey, if you want clean sheets and clothing...

Most of the time, laundry day is fixed, in the week. If one of us needs a little rest and is not essential to the patrols, sentries and others, he can offer to run the machines: fill them up, empty them, fill, empty... it still leaves a little – a lot – of free time. And then, sometimes you get caught by Erk and that's his favorite punishment.

I have a technique: I put the sweaters, underwear, socks in one of the two small machines at 30°C, the pants, jackets and t-shirts in the other, at 60°. The keffiyeh, wherever there's room for them. And in the third, the large one, capacity 15kg, spin speed 2000rpm, I put the bedding at 90°. We don't have sheets with elastics, which speeds up drying. The bottom sheets are sewn like pillowcases that you slip over the mattresses and zip at the end. The mattresses have built in bed pads that can be washed with a sponge.

Once the washings are done, I empty the machine with the pants and the like into the small dryer, the sheets go into the large one and I take the third machine out, the clothes with wool in or elastic stuff that do not stand the dryer and I spread them out in the sun, inside out, on drying racks.

When the ocher is done, I do the white: medical gowns, pajamas and sick bay sheets, the fireproofed jackets of the cooks (which they will re-fireproof later). That goes at 90°C with bleach.

At first, it felt weird to put someone else's underwear to dry. And let's not mention the girls' bras... Made me blush.

The last thing to do is fold and sort it by size and take it all to storage. I must say that even our underwear is uniform, so to speak. The guys' boxers and the bras and shorties of the girls have been specially designed for the military, so that nothing moves nor gets in the way. Getting shot because you're putting your dangly bits back into place is downright stupid... Anyway.

And that's it. My colleagues go pick their fresh clothes out of storage. It they have personal things they like best, they do their own washing.

There's only one personal thing that's washed with the uniforms: the Viking's sheets. He's so big the normal beds (90 by 200cm) are way too small for him. In fact, he had his bed delivered – 140 by 230cm, reinforced slats for the bed box – by the first helicopter, in parts. Apparently, he's used to it. In the meantime, he had slept on two or three mattresses. His sheets are so big I need help folding them.

While the machines are running, I read a book. I had started my heroic-fantasy novel when the giant came to sit next to me on the stone bench under the arcades, in front of the laundry room. Too hot and humid – and noisy – inside.

He handed me a beer. I uncapped it and tipped it to him.  
\- Are you calmer, mate?  
\- Yeah. Washing others' dirty laundry is relaxing... or not, I snickered. Are you still off duty? I asked, showing his arm in its sling.  
\- Yes. I shouldn't have lifted Alkan. He weighs his worth in bullshit, that one, I swear...

He shook his head in annoyance.  
\- It bothers me that Tito lost his temper like that, though. I'm not sure I want to put him back in the field. And neither does Lin.  
\- Erk, you know, I think it's more because of Alkan.  
\- What do you mean?  
\- Do you know that Tito is homosexual?  
\- Yes, since last night.  
\- He got a lot of shit before, the Lieutenant tried to rape him and I suppose that it might have been close to what he got at home and that's probably the reason why he chose to flee and come here. I think Alkan, with his Kanun flavor, must have brought a lot of it back to the surface from where he had stashed it away.  
\- You think?  
\- I don't really know, I'm telling you how I feel about it.  
\- Tell me, Archer, what's your relationship with him?  
\- Come again?  
\- Yesterday, you stood up for him like he was your significant other.

I bristled.  
\- But... Damn, I'm not gay!  
\- Hey, don't get mad! I know. But hey, given your reaction, excuse me for asking...  
\- Sorry. No, I'm as straight as you are. It's just that since we've arrived here, we've been buddies.  
\- There was a buddy system in the company?  
\- No. Just something he and I had set up between us. He's not very tall, right, and before you arrived, he was the youngest. I protected him to the best of my possibilities. But when I see how the Company works, I'm not sure you could duplicate this. Because apart from Kris and you, and Tito and I, there aren't really any pairs. And, actually, right now, Kris and you aren't often together.  
\- And it pisses me off, I can tell you.  
\- An unexpected consequence of the crush the SRH leader had on you, Erk.  
\- I could have lived without it, let me tell you. What he told me... A big shudder shook his large frame. I suspect that between men there is a certain way of doing things, but there... it wasn't love, it was torture, sadism... the need to dominate, to damage something...  
\- Beautiful? I asked with a crooked smile.  
\- If you want.  
\- Well, that's what you are, you know.  
\- So it seems...

I looked at him, wondering if he really ignored his beauty or if he was fishing for compliments. And as I remembered his ways, I realized he wasn't convinced of that, but he wasn't looking for reassurance either.

I went to take a machine load out and empty a dryer, asked him for help to fold the sheets, restarted a machine and we sat down on the bench again.  
\- Erk, I... I heard you tell Katja that you've been through a lot and... with your scars... Oh shit! Sorry, I'm curious and clumsy.  
\- You would like to know the story behind them, right?

I looked at him, mighty embarrassed.  
\- Why not, since I know the story of this one, he said, ruffling my hair. He's a pain, with that habit. Well, right now I don't have much to ruffle, but still. I think he is a touchy-feely kinda guy.  
\- In my opinion, the ones that bother you the most, because they are so different from a knife cut or a bullet wound, are the four lines at the small of my back.  
\- Yes. And the star on your shoulder, too. I wonder what could have made such a mark?  
\- You'll have to choose, Archer. Because each one has a lot of baggage attached to it and has left a strong mark on me, you see, and not just physical.  
\- Oh. Well, if you don't want to talk about it, or if it's too hard, let it go, Erk.  
\- No, I don't really mind. And, yes, it's a little hard, but the shrinks I've seen have all told me I needed to tell the stories.  
\- But you told Katja that you had no PTSD...

He looked at me with a smirk.  
\- Oh, yes, you have a reputation to preserve.  
\- Sort of. There is only one episode, just before we arrived, that still wakes me up sometimes at night. The rest is fine, it's getting duller with time.  
\- An episode?

He shook his head, his right hand on his flank. I did not remember a scar here... As he wasn't moving anymore, face away from me, nor responding to my requests, I got up to see his face better. He had the one thousand yards look in his eyes. I ran a hand in front of his eyes, but no reaction. I was getting worried. I remembered the word Katja had used, so I went for it.  
\- Eiríkur...

He blinked, his gaze fixing on me. His forehead was covered in sweat, his pupils widened in the terror that had gripped him. He started to shake. I mentally kicked myself.  
\- Erk, come back to me. Erk?

I grabbed his shoulder and gently shook. He blinked again, then ran a hand over his face. I apologized for having to touch his ass and searched his back pockets for his silver flask. I twisted the cap off and gave it to him. He took a big swig, then breathed out a long caraway-scented breath.

He leaned against the wall, head back and eyes closed, the flask still open in his lax right hand. I took the beautiful object and carefully closed it, giving him time to recover.  
\- Erk?  
\- Mmh?  
\- I am deeply sorry. I'm curious as a cat and... I shouldn't have asked that question.

He remained silent for a while.  
\- Tugdual... Thank you.

Huh?  
\- I didn't want to see a shrink after this episode, because it's very very difficult to address, to tackle. It's still so recent, barely five or six months... But I just realized, thanks to you, how wrong I was. How dangerous I am for Kris, and for the Company. Maybe someday I'll be ready to laugh about it, but I doubt it. It was...

He shook his head, a little vehemently.  
\- However, I can tell you about the claw marks on my back.

I hesitated. There was so much pain in his beautiful blue eyes.  
\- Erk... I don't know... unless that helps?

He chuckled. Again he reached out to ruffle the half centimeter of hair I have on my pate right now.  
\- Tell me, Archer, how do you know my name?  
\- You name?  
\- You called me Eiríkur.  
\- Oh. I didn't know it was your name, I thought it was Erik. It's Katja, yesterday morning. I saw the effect it had on you, so I gave it a shot.  
\- Then I'll have to thank her once more next time. Well. The claw marks.

He cleared his throat.  
\- Once upon a time...


	28. Chapter 28

\- Once upon a time…

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, with a smile.  
\- Kris and I joined the Foreign Legion seven years ago, in January. We had just turned 18. In February of the following year, we were stationed in Abu Dhabi, we had trained in Sahara, French Guyana, Vietnam… Extreme cold was what was missing.

He took a little break.  
\- Well, as you can imagine, the two of us, natives of Iceland, knew about that. But not the others. So here we are in Transal planes, sitting very close to each other, our asses on the canvas seating and our eyes on our stuff in the middle, with earplugs to protect our hearing and three sweaters and four pairs of socks against the cold. Well, for the others. We only had two sweaters and two pairs of socks.

He chuckled.  
\- We had gotten a little too used to the heat. Anyway. We land in a true hole in the ground, in the middle of Nowhere, Siberia. North north north of Siberia. Not far from the Chukchi Sea. Further north, only water. To the east, only a little ground before the Bering Strait. The upside is that we wouldn’t bother the natives. The downside was that we were really far from everything, housed in prefabs with generators that suffered from the cold, just like us.

He took a sip of his beer which must have started to warm up. It was weird to hear him talk about extreme cold when the weather was so nice here. I saw movement out of the corner of my eyes, but I stayed focused on him. His way of telling the story was… gripping. Barely started, his tale already fascinated me.  
\- The training was done with the Russian Army. Although the Franco-Russian friendship has been dead and buried – may it rest in peace – for so long now, the Legion is still welcome there. Its reputation… you know it.  
\- I do.  
\- It was a series of exercises like capture the flag, escort and whatnot. The idea wasn’t to make us better soldiers – we weren’t too bad, right? –, the idea was to get us hardened to extreme conditions. To give you an idea, it’s a place where you can’t pee outside in winter. If you need to take a leak and you’re too far from the toilets, you just pee yourself, inside your clothes, and you’re good for washing your clothes and yourself when you get home. We all smelled the same, when coming inside. Either way, you have so many layers between your dick and the outside that you never have time to take it out. Nor the will. Especially after the pictures the Russian instructor showed us of a poor sod who had forgotten. It was ugly.

I shivered. I had no way of knowing what it was like, so I couldn’t help but imagine the worst. And my imagination is vivid.  
\- We were given special outfits to wear throughout our stay. For me, they had had a bit of trouble with the length of the legs and sleeves, mainly. So I had only one pair of long johns and one long-sleeves undershirt. I had to wash it at night and put it on top of the stove, hoping I wouldn’t be awaken at night, having to go out without it.  
\- Why not put it on? Under your clothes, it would have been all right, eh? Like if you had sweated a little…  
\- Oh no, it wasn’t the same. The material only absorbed sweat if it started perfectly dry. And wet underwear was certain death. I got a piece of the sergeant’s mind because one morning I had put it on slightly damp. I was forbidden to go outside and my team lost points. I never did it again.

He drank some more beer.  
\- So, the only things that were ours were our boxers. The rest, special outfit: socks, long johns, undershirt, turtleneck sweater and thick sweater with a high collar. The material was almost purely synthetic, with a little merino wool in it. Kris and I were covered in a red rash, a sort of hives all over the body. Horrendous. Strangely, peeing oneself calmed the itching.

He shrugged.  
\- Then, we had very thick fleece underjacket and underpants, that would attached together with snaps to keep the snow out, just in case. On top of that, we had high-waisted goretex pants with suspenders. Fortunately, they threaded through loops on the underjacket and were hooked at the waist in the front and in the back. A parka in goretex and eiderdown, cinched at the waist, with reindeer fur in the hood and wolverine fur around it, because your breath doesn’t freeze on it. Add to that a woolen full-face hood, silk liner gloves, skin gloves and fucking skin mittens, with the fur still inside and with a slit at the top of the palm so you can stick your fingers out if needed. All this, in white. Under the hood, we wore a woolen headband that kept our ears warm and the headphones in place. In the hood, in front of the mouth, the microphone. Finally, a pair of reindeer skin boots…

I looked at him, surprised at the material.  
\- Yes, reindeer skin. Easy to clean and with two pairs of socks – the norm – you didn’t feel the cold, even where you were still, with the fur still inside the boots. Of course, the pants were slipped into the boots and the calf strap had to be snug, again to keep snow out. In the barracks, we walked around without the goretex and with slippers on. Getting into the outfit was a pain in the ass, but given the -30°C maximum outside temperature, we took the time. And we always had a buddy to make sure we hadn’t forgotten anything. Like astronauts, of a sort. You can imagine, Kris and I…

He stopped, lost in his memories.  
\- I just thought of something funny. In the Legion, whenever there was a roll call, he and I would always answer together. Obviously. And that Viking nickname you gave me, they had given it to me in the Legion before, to differentiate us. On call, it was Hellason and then Viking. Not the other Hellason.  
\- Funny. I have to admit that this is the impression you gave me when I saw you on the first day: a Viking on steroids…  
\- I’ve never taken used any, you know. That’s just how I’m built.  
\- Yes, that’s obvious.  
\- What do you mean?  
\- Your muscles are impressive, but they are functional. It feels like they built up as you grew, carrying your 30kg of gear, and not in a club lifting weights. It’s the same with Kris. You are simply more massive than he is.  
\- That’s true. Well. Where was… Oh, yes! They had tried to separate us, at first, because two Hellason in the same platoon or squad was a pain in the neck. But we always managed to find each other. It drove them mad. They quickly realized that we worked much better together and that, if they put us in opposite teams, because we knew how the other thought, the tactical advantage it gave one team would be canceled because we did, in fact, know how the other thought, both of us.

He shook his head.  
\- I digress. Anyway, in Siberia, we were together, in the same squad, under the orders of a ball-buster of a sergeant –whom we adored – and a Lieutenant whom you know really well. Biblically, actually.

Biblically… what does that mean, again? I searched my memory, my catechism lessons, but…  
\- Don’t sweat it, Archer. If you’re a Catholic, you’re screwed, it’s in the Old Testament: Lot and his daughters…  
\- Ah! Yes, I see. But how did you know about my religion? Even if…  
\- You’re French, the majority of French people are Christian ascendant Catholic. I just gave it a go.  
\- Christian ascendant Catholic. I like that. So, the Lieutenant was Lin?  
\- Yep! It was her last year in the Legion, after which she joined the French Army. Okay, back to Siberia. So, we spent a few days messing around in the snow, just to get used to it, and then things got going. Towards the end of our stay, we had planned an infiltration scenario. The idea of our officers was not to go in, kill everyone and steal something. The idea was to do what Native Americans considered the pinnacle of combat: counting coup. They would slip into the fray with a curved stick as their only weapon, like a shepherd’s crook, but shorter, you see.

I nodded. And out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the earlier movements I had seen were from Baby Jane, Mac, Cook, Nanny, Phone, among others. Did he realize he had listeners? Quite possibly.

He resumed his story.  
\- And when they would touch their victim, they wouldn’t kill them, just show them that they could have. And what our officers wanted was for us to go, without getting caught, to deposit a bottle of Armagnac – nothing less –, with the Commander’s compliments, in the Russian commander’s office. There were three squads with a bottle each that would be going in Native American style while the others, ours included, would run interference.

He went to take another sip, but his beer was empty. He shrugged and put the can on the ground.  
\- For the exercises, we had laser guns and… This is important for the rest of the story. We were wearing a harness with a computer that counted hits and told us of our fate. But because dead isn’t enough, because you don’t abandon a wounded comrade, especially in these areas, we also had heavy cloth straps with a built-in chip around the neck, ankles, wrists and around the head. These would allow the computer on our chest to calculate where we were hit. The wounded had to be lugged around and the dead had to go back to base, their computers disabling all lasers on them and their own weapon, too. The officers had their handguns, in case wolves or others attacked but for the rest of us, only laser gun.

He looked up in surprise when a can of cold beer came under his nose. Well, he hadn’t seen his audience. He smiled, frowning a little.  
\- I hope you don’t have anything better to do, guys.

A series of innocent smiles made him chuckle.  
\- We were one of the squads farthest from base and were starting to return home after knocking out one more of their patrols when Lin shouted “I’m hit!” And the computer said:”No, you’re dead. Head shot”. Pure bad luck. As we were far from the base, as night was falling and it was dangerous to go alone, I picked her up in a fireman carry and we left. We didn’t get very far. I was “shot” in the leg and collapsed, dropping Lin, as Kris also fell, shot through the heart. The guy opposite was damn good. Same level as you, Baby Jane.

He smiled at the little porcelain doll of a girl.  
\- So, we had fallen into an ambush and were now prisoners, with two “dead” and one “wounded”. We were seated in a circle with our backs to each other, our dead in the middle. I played along, with my “injured” leg stretched out in front of me and a red scarf tied where the shot had hit me.  
\- Why, Mac asked, since the computer told you you were hit?  
\- It was an easy way to know that I was wounded, for an enemy to finish me off, for a friend to rescue me. It also was a way for me to remember it. In the heat of the moment, by the time the computer reminds you that you’re supposed to be one-armed, you’ve drawn and shot the enemy…

He shrugged.  
\- So here we are, cooling our asses in the snow, unarmed – Lin’s handgun had been taken off, she was “dead” – and behaving. And behind our backs, our two “dead” fidgeting and moaning because they were cold. They were lying down, poor sods. I advised them to cuddle up for warmth and got a kick in the butt for my trouble. Ingrates!

We chuckled, imagining the scene.  
\- I noticed our guards were rookies. True rookies. We had a year of Legion, if they had two months of army, that was the max. One of them was on the radio, calling a senior officer, I guess, since there was just a corporal with us. It was getting close to dusk. And here I see, behind the guard in front of me, a shadow that moves very furtively, in complete silence. I don’t say anything, thinking it’s one of ours coming to free us.

He rubbed his face and took a sip.  
\- It was a damn Siberian tiger! A male, 350kg and 10cm long claws. I’m trying to get the guard’s attention, but he thinks I’m making fun of him, so he walks over and hits me with his gun, hard enough to make me see stars as he returns to his position. And then, the tiger pounces on him. My comrades had seen it and were pointing at it. The poor guy had turned to it and the beast gutted him, tearing him open from his neck to his balls. But with our gear, it couldn’t do it cleanly so the poor man must have taken a few minutes to die, screaming. Me, I was freaking out but I knew I had to move, so I got up, rushed to the poor guy and tore his knife from its sheath. I wasn’t quite berserk, but close. Fear is sometimes as effective as anger.

He paused, drinking some beer again.  
\- Wait, Erk, you’re not saying… Mac couldn’t go on, stunned by what the giant’s remark implied.  
\- Yes, my dear. I grabbed the tiger’s ear, to get him away from the soldier, I slipped my arm into its mouth as deeply as possible so that he couldn’t bite, too busy trying to get my arm out, then I slid my hand with the knife down its side, counting the ribs and I pierced its heart, turning the blade. It almost fell on top of me, almost pinned me. Even I have trouble moving 350kg.

We laughed vaguely, just to release the tension a bit.  
\- I wanted to turn to his victim but at that moment the female threw herself at another soldier, who saw her coming and tried to shoot her down forgetting his was a laser gun. All he managed to do was piss her off. She set her claws in his thigh and there, I scream like I was possessed.  
\- A bit like yesterday with the two idiots? Nanny asked.  
\- Yeah. She got scared and pulled back a little, I was able to touch the soldier and stem the bleeding, even start a little healing and then the female pounced on me. I just had time to curl up before she grabbed me by the neck and tore at my back trying to turn me around to get to my stomach. I screamed in terror when I felt her fangs at my nape. I hadn’t had time to put my hands there and I was afraid she would break it. And when she tore at my back, I screamed in pain and fainted. It was the parka that saved me. The parka and the straps.

He was thirsty, obviously, because he drank some more beer.  
\- When I opened my eyes again, I was on my stomach at the hospital, with our medical officer, both a doctor and a Healer – though his Gift is lesser than mine – who was trying to close the wounds with silk sutures and his Gift. And Kris clinging to my hand, on the verge of collapse. Lin had given me a shot of her homemade morphine. I didn’t feel anything, I was floating, I felt good. I realized later the extent of the damage.  
\- Erk, I asked, do you have any marks on your neck, too?  
\- Yes. Here, look.

He cocked his head forward, taking his ponytail out of the way. I scanned the nape of his neck and found tiny, round marks, two on each side. They were a little over 10cm apart.  
\- Damn! I exclaimed. Fucking big critter!  
\- Yeah, she was big, for a female.  
\- But, Erk, if you were armed only with laser guns, how could one of you kill her? Mac asked, ever the pragmatic.  
\- Do you remember one of our guards talking on the radio at one point? She nodded. Well, the officer he had called had just arrived on a snowmobile. That’s how we were brought to the hospital, the Russian and I. This officer, a Captain, had a pistol and he killed the female while she was still focused on me. Very good shot, too. He got her in the eye, killing her instantly and causing her to collapse on top of me. Kris told me they had trouble moving her. He told me it all happened so quickly there was nothing they could do.  
\- If you mention the eye shot, then it’s important, am I right? Baby Jane asked.  
\- You’re right. For some reasons, the Russians accused me of having provoked the tigers and demanded I be punished. Our officers said that my injuries would suffice as punishment. My comrades, those in the squad and others who had heard of the attack, wanted me to be awarded a medal, but, for the sake of appeasement, nothing was done.  
\- Erk, wait. Did you know what made the tigers attack? And, tigers?  
\- I don’t know if you remember, twenty years ago, the world announcement of the creation of a park dedicated to the preservation of this particular tiger? It was to be a natural park, where all hunting was prohibited, and it would be unfenced. The tigers, with plenty of food, have multiplied and grown bigger and have… swarmed, so to speak. And far away. And our guards, the Russians who dragged the carcasses to retrieve the skins, thought we were either a little too close to their lair or disturbed them during a hunt. I would go for the lair. Anyway.  
\- One last question?  
\- Yes, Mac?  
\- You said you counted the ribs to find the heart. How did you know? Have you studied the anatomy of the tiger?  
\- No, the human anatomy.  
\- Don’t get it.

He looked at her for a while before answering.  
\- We mammals are kind of built the same way. So, in human, you can get the heart by going between the fifth and sixth ribs from the top. It’s the same for tiger, dog, horse. The only difference is the length of the blade required.

He shrugged, once more. We were rather stunned, once again, by what his remark implied. We fell silent. I don’t think any of us wanted to know what taught a 19-years old how to kill with a single strike at the heart. Not really, no sir. He resumed his tale.  
\- So, I was deprived of a medal and congratulations. Yet the Russian commander had had his bottle of Armagnac. I even got yelled at, again, because our departure was delayed for several days, to make sure my injuries and I could stand the journey. I wasn’t happy, let me tell you. I had saved a life, maybe others, and… well. But the best part came from the little guy I saved.

He smiled, a beautiful, sweet smile.  
\- My healing had stopped the bleeding and started repairing the artery, our doctor, a Healer, too, added some and the rest was surgery. The day before we left, that little guy came to see me with his comrades, the dead man’s friends, in my… in our room, since Kris had decided a mattress on the floor was the perfect bed for him. Fortunately one of them spoke English, because our Russian was downright bad.  
\- Yeah, I saw that, I said. The evening of the party at Duran Duran’s.  
\- Indeed. And so the little guy explains that he owes me his life and his leg. The medics told him he would walk and fight again, so you can imagine how he felt. Anyway, he had learned their officers wanted me punished, refused me a decoration and so on. So, they had this idea of giving a medal themselves. I was touched, but I didn’t really want this decoration. I had done my job as a soldier, that was all.

He put his hand on his medallion, the only jewelry he wears. I remembered it, seeing it in the buried keffiyeh on the day he was kidnapped.  
\- They gave me a silver medal of Saint George, patron saint of chivalry, which they had sent there from Moscow by the mother of the little guy, in express so they could give it to me before we left. It seems it was a family heirloom and that the mother had the pope of her church bless it. I wanted to refuse, not wanting to deprive him of it, but his mother had insisted, to thank me. I accepted it. I was really touched. This “decoration” has immense value for me, because it is the price of a life. And because, for me, a life is priceless.

He looked at his hand for a long moment. Getting his thoughts in order, I guess.  
\- I’m getting to the end of my story. The next day, we boarded the plane for the journey back. The doctor reckoned I would survive the trip. That motherfucker. I hurt so much I almost wanted to die. We took Transal planes again, and in the middle of ours, they had put a mattress for me, and I was wedged with our gear. Lin had cobbled together a stand for the homemade morphine I.V. drip I was on. Shortly before each take-off and landing, she would increase the dose and cut it back when we were cruising, so I would not overdose. At every air pocket, I was again wishing for death to put an end to it. We landed in Abu Dhabi and I finished my recovery in a hospital worthy of the name and in a climate… phew! Let me tell you that sweat on these claw marks hurt like hell… And a month later, when I was starting to be able to move about almost normally again, I received a package from Russia.

He looked at us with a devilish smile and was silent. We quickly understood.  
\- Oh come on, Erk, tell us!  
\- No, you guess.  
\- Vodka! Dubitchuks! I laughed hearing that one.  
\- No and no.  
\- Matryoshkas from the great-great-grandmother…

We kept messing around with all the clichés about Russia. Then Mac found it.  
\- The skin of the tiger. No, tigers, since the Russians got them both.  
\- Bravo, Mac. I know why you’re a corporal, he said with a big smile.  
\- Yes, it’s not just because of my gorgeous physique, she said, showing off her stocky figure. We burst out laughing.

Then what she said hit our brains and we fell silent. We couldn’t get over it: two Siberian tigers skins, as a thank you…  
\- I have lugged the hide of the male with me, as a bedspread, throughout my Legion. Now it’s vacuum sealed with the other one in a storage room, until I have a house to display them. And a certificate proving that it’s not poaching.  
\- What an adventure! Phone said, his first words since the beginning.

Yeah, that summed it up well.


	29. Chapter 29

It was a pain staying on base without being able to do your job as a soldier. Oh, Erk and I finished painting the bikes, but we didn’t have the pleasure of testing them.

On the other hand, we... well, he got a surprise with the weekly helicopter delivery. Yeah, they are weekly now.

At first, a heli would come, a big one, something that could carry 12 trial bikes, for instance. Or a Land-Rover… It would set down a net, land next to it, then the pilots would go to the mess hall for a coffee while we opened and emptied the net.

Someone, might have been Lin herself, found it damn inefficient, so now the bird gently lays the net on the ground, one of us unhooks it from the winch, hangs up last week’s net and the whole thing goes away.

That day, Tito had just finished his sentence, Doc had discharged him from sick bay and along with me and a few others he found himself having to clear the net. Erk, forbidden the use of his arm, was flashing the barcodes on his tablet, to make sure the packing list and the delivery matched. Booooring, but necessary task. We used little hand trucks, called _diable_ (devil) in French, so I got to make a joke about using a _diable_ (hand truck) because of the weight of our sins. They were nice to me, they laughed.

The items on the delivery list matched the shopping list except for two packages, one addressed to E. Hellason and the other to Fratelli Hellason. We dropped them off at the mess hall and huddled around them like beetles around fresh dung.  
\- Who is Fratelli? A third Icelander? Tito asked.  
\- No, it means Brothers in Italian.  
\- Ah.  
\- Yes. And as we don’t know that many Italians, it can only come from Rizzi.  
\- Did I hear Matteo’s name? said Kris, whom we hadn’t seen for a little while.  
\- So you’re back, lil’ brother?

They exchanged a look and then Kris came to stand next to the Viking. They looked at the airway bill.  
\- There, instructions: _per aprire a Natale_. We’ll have to wait until Christmas, big guy.  
\- Fine. But what can a Mafia godfather send us for Christmas?  
\- A horse’s head, someone started. There was a sneer from Shorn then a sudden inspiration from Curly.  
\- Wait, what? Matteo Rizzi, THE godfather of the Lombard Mafia?  
\- You can add Piedmont, Veneto, Liguria and, actually, all of northern Italy down to Bologna and San Marino, Kris said.

Curly sat down a bit abruptly.  
\- Well, fuck! I don’t believe it! THE Rizzi sends you Christmas presents… Why…

The brothers traded another look.  
\- _Nei_ , Kris, _nei_ , Erk said, shaking his head very hard.

Kris stared right at him with a devilish grin.  
\- Erik saved his life… He told us without taking his eyes off his brother.

In the borage blue eyes I saw treason, anger, sadness, then Erk turned around and stormed out.  
\- _Skítt_ , Kris said and rushed off behind him, apologizing.

We followed and got to the yard just as Kris caught up with him.  
\- I’m sorry, big guy, I…

Erk grabbed his brother by the sweater, with his good hand, and almost lifted him off the ground, shaking him.  
\- I asked you not to say anything, but no, you had to go and open your big mouth and spill the beans!  
\- But what’s the problem, Erik?  
\- He’s a fucking mobster, Kris! A criminal!  
\- So? He’s a good man! You saw what he did to regulate it all!  
\- He’s still a mobster, a criminal, a… a… a gangster!  
\- I tend to forget how straight you are, sometimes.  
\- Maybe, but when I ask you not to talk about it, I would like you to obey.

Kris bristled as he slapped his brother’s hand to get free.  
\- Obey you?! I’m not your subordinate, jerk, I’m your brother!  
\- Little brother! Erk roared, insisting on little.  
\- And what does that change, eh, big brother? I’m proud of you, _hálfviti_ , proud that you saved the life of that man I happen to like. Proud that you put your disgust aside to do your job as the true pro you are. You didn’t have time to get to know him as I did, since you spent most of our time either avoiding him or unconscious. But I discovered a man with a great sense of honor, who has re-established in northern Italy a criminality that is certainly organized, but honorable and without collateral damage. And without him…  
\- Without him, what?

Kris had stopped right on that word and his anger was gone.  
\- Say it, Kris, say it, I order you this time!  
\- And this time, too, I’ll disobey, big brother.  
\- You little jerk!

And Erk lifted his massive fist, ready to strike down his brother. And Lin, who had watched the whole scene silently, as always letting things resolve themselves on their own, suddenly stood in front of him, hands on hips, frowning. She had moved so fast it looked like she had teleported.  
\- Enough Hellason. Both of you.

The gigantic fist slowly lowered, the giant sagged, Kris approached, wrapping both arms around his brother’s waist and leaning against him.  
\- Sorry, Erik. I’m so proud of you, you know, that I wanted to share it.

The Viking took a deep shaking breath, ran a hand over his face.  
\- Dumbass.  
\- Love you too, big brother.

A smile finally appeared on the giant’s face and he ruffled his brother’s hair, letting his hand rest on his little brother’s blond head.  
\- Fine, Lin said. Erik, the package with your name on it is from me, I want you to get on with it asap, should do you good.

There was a glimmer of hope in the Viking’s face.  
\- There are three packages for me, she continued, I’d like to have them in my office before tonight. And I think one day you will have to satisfy the prurient curiosity of the spectators of your brotherly fight.

We felt a little bad to have witnessed the fraternal brawl. But Lin was right, curiosity was literally eating us alive. How could two Icelanders, two ex-legionnaires, be appreciated enough by the Capo, the godfather, of the Lombard Mafia for him to send them Christmas presents deep in Afghanistan? And how… not why, why, in the case of a mobster, one can imagine, no, how had Erk been forced to save his life? And at what cost? Kris had said unconscious, which meant Erk had taken a severe hit, for a change. After the story of the tiger, we were ready for anything.

But when I saw that glimmer of hope in the blue eyes, I decided to play ball-buster corporal and move everyone out of the yard and back to their occupation, which was, for the luckier ones, to test the bikes. They took the twelve bikes to the helipad, where the R&R E-assaults birds had landed.

During the last resupply delivery, we had received a number of diesel drums, which we had rolled to the generator and while the lucky bastards were having a bike rodeo under Kris’s orders, Tito and I manned the pump to fill the tank. Once again an activity that doesn’t tax a recovering body nor takes too much time. We just had to unscrew the cap – it took some force because you don’t want the gasoline to rain on the people over the copter flies –, slide the pump and its hose into the drum, prime by hand then press the engine button and listen until we heard air being sucked into the pump. Then, we did the same thing with another drum. Et cetera. Boring.

Erk, with Curly’s help, had lugged his package into his room and locked himself. When he emerged in the evening, he was quite relaxed, happy and with clay on his nose, forehead and under his fingernails. So, there was clay in his package. What did he do with it?

We got the answer three days later. With one hand and Cook’s silent help, he cleared a shelf in the mess hall. The mess hall is also the “living room” of the Company, there is a small library with real books, magazines, card games, board games, stuff, sometimes… memorabilia, let’s say.

I was quietly sitting at a table attempting to read my heroic fantasy book – yeah, still the same – when Cook and Erk starting putting on it things that were coming out of the oven. On the shelf appeared a small house with only three walls. Well, it reminded me of something. It was when I saw an ox and a donkey appear that I understood. I got closer.  
\- Tell me, Viking, I thought the Icelanders were Christian ascendant Protestant…  
\- So?  
\- So, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not really into the _crèche_ thing.  
\- You’re more or less right. It depends. But, here, it is a tradition from the Legion, he said, placing before the two reclining animals a man and a woman, Joseph and Mary.

The _santons_ – because that’s what they were – were 5cm high and unpainted. Since the details were so fine, it was easy to see who was who. But the giant had taken liberties with the traditional _santons_.

For instance, I saw a woman in fatigues, with a lock falling halfway on Ray Ban Aviators, but with a shepherd’s crook. Lin. The symbolism was not very subtle. She had two dogs with her. Then, when I saw Doc as a bear trainer and Nanny as the bear, or Kris as the “ravi” – the happiest character in a traditional Provence _crèche_ – I assumed the others would be the sheep. I was wrong but hey, I’m not in Erk’s head.

He had made Cook as a _gardian_ – traditional horse rider from Camargue, in the south of France – with Ketchup as his Arlesienne – tradition, anyone? – riding pillion. Mustard as the garlic merchant, Fatso as a little old man with his bundle of sticks… With aluminum foil he’s made a pond and set up JD as a fisherman. As he picked them up from the plate and put them on the shelf, I recognized each of us. Some were identifiable with the classical _santons_ , others not. But I must admit that Tito as a knife grinder, with his grinding wheel and a large knife in his hand, gave me a good laugh.

Then Ketchup came with a sprinkler and the snow, flour, started to fall on the _santons_. I felt all kind of weird, like someone was compressing my heart. Childhood memories rising to the surface, smells of cinnamon and hot candles, the taste of hot chocolate and brioche after Midnight mass. I must have made a noise because the next moment I had the Viking’s hand on my shoulder. And his eyes in mine.  
\- Cook, could you make us some hot chocolate? he asked and let me to one of the tables.  
\- I had forgotten…  
\- Yes, in our business it’s difficult to keep track of the passage of time. This is one of the traditions of the Legion that I really like, the _crèche_. We had competitions between units, you know.  
\- And you would make the _santons_ yourself?  
\- Yes, the Nativity was always present: Jesus, Mary, Joseph. Then the guys represented what their unit had been through during the year. I think you can guess the subject after Siberia…  
\- Yeah… Erk, you know that in the Company, there is a bit of everything, for religions or philosophies.  
\- I can guess, yes. But, you seen, if there is one celebration common to all, this is it. It is a Roman, Celtic, Viking festival. The victory of the Sun over Night, of Light over Darkness. Sol Invictus. Taken over by the Catholic Church, it has become a family celebration. The Legion, for many, is a kind of family. And, with Lin and Kris, we figured it could become a Company tradition. On December 24, we celebrate, all together. We drink, dance, sing, have fun and, if we want, we give each other presents. No obligation. On the 25th, we will go to the village, distribute sweets and useful things, we will share hot mulled apple juice and I will give small presents to the kids. My next batch.  
\- What are you going to make?  
\- Oh, animals. Wild or domestic…  
\- One or two tigers? I asked with a smirk.  
\- I might.  
\- You’re good with your hands, I said without thinking too much, but I have to admit that I was surprised by the delicacy subtlety of the figurines.  
\- That’s what my girlfriends have always told me.

Hop! I blushed, as red as a sunset!  
\- But I thank you for the compliment, mate.  
\- Do you always answer a compliment with bullshit, Erk?  
\- Lodge a complaint with Kris, it’s his fault.  
\- Oh yeah? the younger brother asked, coming in, bringing with him air redolent of diesel.

Big Viking smile.  
\- Any hot chocolate left? It’s getting… bracing outside.  
\- Ask Cook, brother, and come join us.

Cup in hand, Kris came and sat down opposite Erk.  
\- So, Erk asked, those bikes?  
\- All tested. There’s one who engine is screwing up a bit, I’ll ask Jo to have a look. And then, we will think about a stretcher, to bring a wounded back quickly.  
\- Good idea. I could test it, hey, since I’m the heaviest.  
\- That was the plan, since it’s mostly for you.  
\- The plan? How?  
\- Erik, are you truly that dense?

Silence from the giant, sigh from the littler one.  
\- Despite the fact that you should protect your wonderful gift so you can heal others, you are usually the first to go into the fight. And you have the traces of it all over your body… Should we talk about Siberia? Milan? French Guyana? Back in time, we could also talk about the Varda’s lifting sling…

The Viking looked into his mug, thoughtful.  
\- Tell me I’m wrong, Eiríkur. Or tell me you won’t do it anymore. Although I know you can’t help it.

Erk darkened and, head still down, he looked away. His emotions, all somber, were written on his beautiful face. Kris, very gently, very tenderly, reached out to stroke his cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t seen. I saw the giant accept the caress of a man for the first time. I think they had forgotten about me.

Kris slipped his hand under his brother’s chin and lifted his face.  
\- _Bróðir_ , I’m not asking you to change. Never. You are the way you are, serving as a shield for the others, ready to exhaust yourself so they can live. It’s part of what I love about my big brother. Just be a little more realistic sometimes. I love this innocence you haven’t lost, but I need you to be pragmatic at times. Can you try?

The Viking didn’t move, then he nodded, looking up at his brother. There was a tear, still, at the corner of his blue eye. He swallowed. Kris smiled at him, a very soft, very tender smile. Erk tried to give it back but apparently his throat was still tight. Kris’s remark wasn’t, in my opinion, so loaded. Unless it reminded the giant of what he had endured that had marked him physically…  
\- Would you pass me a handkerchief, Kris? Erk ask huskily.  
\- I thought you had one in your pocket…  
\- Wrong pocket, Erk muttered, left arm still in a sling and limited in his movements.

Kris smiled, rummaged in his own pockets and handed a very fine batiste kerchief. Clean and folded. White. With lace around. I widened my eyes. Erk too. Then a small spark lit in his eyes.  
\- You’re wrong, these are your panties.

Kris was flabbergasted. Then he deadpanned:  
\- No, they’re yours. You know I go commando.

I couldn’t hold back and tried – and failed – to stifle my laughter but almost choked myself. Erk patted me on the back, laughing as well, joined by Kris. In his kitchen, Cook shook his head, a smile of his face.  
\- I saw you’ve made the _crèche_ , big guy. Did you put Lin in Mary and that one – pointing at me – as Joseph?  
\- How subtle… But no, Lin in Mary, never again!

Curiosity was eating me alive, what with the so very interesting lives those two… three… had lived.  
\- Look at him, Erik…

The brothers turned to me and I suddenly found the bottom of my mug really fascinating.  
\- More curious than a cat, that one.

I blushed, barely recovered from the fraternal exchange.  
\- You might know one day, mate, but I think you should be able to guess.  
\- Oh, I’m guessing that she didn’t like it. It’s the way she reacted that interests me.  
\- Ah. She took Mary and supposedly dropped her out of clumsiness. In front of the Commander.  
\- Lin, clumsy? That’s a first.  
\- After that, she told me, still in the presence of the Commander, that if I did it again, she would spank me in public, like when I was little. So they all learned she had been our babysitter…  
\- So that’s how she makes you obey, Erk?

And I realized I should have kept my damn mouth shut. He gave me a strange look so I dove back into my mug, hoping they would forget about me.  
\- I had only one. So did Kris. A pat on the diaper. For a tantrum. After that, she just had to threaten. Fortunately for the three of us, when we were five or six years old, she left for Germany to study chemistry, then joined the Foreign Legion a little later.  
\- She’s a chemist? I asked, surprised.  
\- Yes, that’s her basic training. This is how she can synthesize what Kris calls homemade morphine for us. From organic poppy sap with as few steps and additional products as possible. Not as effective as the legal stuff, but much better than nothing. And not addictive like opium.  
\- Still because of your allergy?  
\- Yeah…

And, inexplicably, he blushed, hot. Kris giggled oddly, a mixture of a silly chuckle and a sneer.

Erk looked at him askance. But, that day, I didn’t learn why he blushed.

I had had my quota of confessions, I guess.


	30. Chapter 30

Time passed, Christmas got closer.

The day after our fascinating conversation about the Legion and its traditions, Kris, Tito and I set out to lay our electronic sentries. It was one of Lin’s three packages.

They don’t replace human sentries or dog noses, but they do help. And would allow us, on Christmas Eve, to all gather in the mess hall to celebrate together. We were taking a calculated but controlled risk thanks to the electronic sentries.

When my brain went on vacations, the guys finished Erk’s Ditch. It had the same depth everywhere now and, above all, it was impassable without our help. Well, a guy on horseback or motorbike and more than a little crazy could hope to cross it. But landing would be bad. Allow me to explain.

The guys had installed a swing bridge: two large reinforce metal slabs, set with just enough space between them for the Land-Rover or a light truck. The slabs rotated around an offset axis, set in concrete and on ball bearings. It took only two men to tighten the cable that lifted the other end and to rotate the whole thing to cross the ditch. The cable was released so as not to interfere with the vehicle, and the maneuver was repeated the other way to set the slab aside. Of course, for the bikes, we would move only one, right?

No horse worth his oats would ever agree to cross these metal slabs that undulated or echoed under their feet.

When I say that landing is bad, it’s because on our side of the ditch, the ground was riddled with hand-dug holes, deep and narrow, real leg-breakers for horses, from which emerged a metal stake whose tip, perfectly polished and faceted, shone under the sun. These spikes were lethal for motorcycle or car tires. We had set them up in a swath five meters wide, all along the ditch.

Of course, there was a safe way. But we had solid silicone tires, puncture-proof, essential here, so far from everything as we are.

If that was not enough, the second ditch, crossable by a real drawbridge, same metal slabs, was preceded by a kind of wall – the earth which was in the ditch before we dug it, if you follow me – which prevented anyone from gaining momentum to jump across the hole, even on a motorcycle: the slope of the wall was too steep (70%!). Or, if the guy managed to reach the top either on horse or bike, he had lost all momentum and ended up at the bottom of the ditch, impaled on the metal spikes that had been set up there at the very beginning.

It that wasn’t still enough, there was the barbican and the third ditch, 10m from the walls of the caravanserai. And within reach of our guns, mortars and the like, while keeping us safe.

When Erk had been kidnapped by the SRH, he had crossed “his” ditch by the dirt bridge that still existed then, ultimately placing himself in the hands on his captors.

Our sentries, eight in number, had portions of the perimeter of the piece of land that started at Erk’s Ditch, north of the compound, and ended at the cliffs, south of it, above the village. They would walk from one end of their section to the other without waiting to meet their buddy, since they were tracked by the GPS chip in their belt. Every day, the starting points of the section changed, just to be unpredictable. Lin and Fatso were scheduling those on the very morning. We had painted numbers on small rocks around the perimeter, and so we would start at the number chosen in the morning.

What Tito, Kris and I set up that morning looked like 10cm long tent pegs. Each peg was planted a little inside the sentry perimeter, 5m apart.

Of course, they weren’t tent pegs. These were things that cost an arm and two or three legs because their technology was secret and their electronics overprotected. They could be killed with an EMP flash, but that wouldn’t be discreet and these pegs had a sort of dead-man switch: the peg would whistle loudly upon being “killed” by the EMP. A pressurized air capsule was kept closed by the program and would open when the EMP killed the electronics in the peg, then a jet of air would come out through a small opening with a reed, like a flute, producing the whistle.

Those pegs were talking to each other all the time, on very short radio waves, but that poor Poll could sometimes hear. He was never to be a sentry again.

B peg would send a signal to A peg on its right and C peg on its left, for instance, and they would respond back adding a little something. Which it would send back. After a dozen exchanges, it would change signals and start again. All this at full speed. And of course, each stake was, in turn, A, B or C.

A leg or a boot passing would cut the signal and the pegs would boost theirs to talk to all of them at the same time. If the passage was confirmed, we would receive an alarm. And again, all this almost faster than light.

The only critter able to get into the perimeter without going through the network was a bird, and the pegs would only detect things going through them, so we were never woken up in the middle of the night because an owl had just nabbed a field mouse. With our two dogs, the field mice had disappeared from the area anyway. Well, I say field mice, but they were local rodents. So, a rat? A vole? I don’t know anything about that.

* *

I woke up this morning with a strange feeling. I was in my bunk, in our large NCO room and the others were still sleeping. Lin had gotten us all home because today is December 24th.

I looked at my watch, it was very early. Like 4am. No need to try and go back to sleep, by the time I’d have fallen asleep, it would be time to get up. And then, if I go up now, I’ll have the shower all to myself and I could keep Cook and his helpers company, already up for the bread…

I grabbed my things and, in boxer and t-shirt, Behemoth in hand, barefoot in my boots, I went out to the showers. The moon was still out, almost full, it was super bright. And it was cold, god damn it!

It felt like the world was holding its breath. Impossible to know what about, but it felt like time was on hold.

I shrugged and went to wash up, all alone, so cool. Fortunately, if we need to save electricity, there is one thing Lin will never deprive us of and that is hot water. There is a normal circuit, through the boiler – diesel-run – and there are a few pipes that could through the kitchen to give lukewarm water, barely enough for shaving but a little cold for a shower, except in summer. These pipes are used to cool the furniture around the ovens and to absorb excess heat from the refrigerators and cold storage. So they arrive lukewarm in the showers, just next door.

Once cleaned and warmed up, I got a clean shave and headed off to the mess hall. After a coffee and an apple because the breakfast rolls weren’t quite done yet, I filled up another mug of coffee and went to see JD, on guard at the barbican.

He enjoyed the hot bean juice. Cook may be American, but his coffee is always top notch. There is the long morning coffee, taken in large mugs or bowls, sweet as a mocha, and a little after-lunch coffee, stronger but sweet. And since Lin has been sourcing coffee in Italy, it’s even better.

And suddenly, as I was standing next to JD sipping my second cup of coffee, I realized why it felt like the world was holding its breath. It was snowing.

Fat lazy snowflakes, falling regularly and muffling all noise.

A white Christmas. I couldn’t believe it.

I looked at JD, he smiled.  
\- Yep. Last time we had snow on Christmas was before you came, Archer. That would have been, what, five years from now?  
\- Six, more like.  
\- Hmm. Won’t last. It never lasts long at this altitude.

It held. Because, the next day… ah damn, I’m going too fast.

I mostly thought about the sentries and returned to the mess hall to ask Cook for a thermos bottle of coffee and some polymer cups.

And I did my own sentry rounds, giving all of them a cup of hot coffee and a smile. I saw Bloody Mary, grumbling because her wife was warm in bed and she wasn’t, but then she smiled when she saw Yaka had followed me.

Yaka and I continued our rounds. I had a little scare at some point, remembering the Viking’s misadventures, which began during a round, actually. But I hadn’t upset – or seduced – anyone, and I ended my rounds quietly, bringing the empty thermos and dirty mugs back to the mess hall for washing.

So I was able to have breakfast with Cook and the ladies and it was so nice to scarf down a bun so hot the butter melted immediately. Salted butter, eh? I’m from Bretagne.

The price to pay for this delicacy was that I found myself serving breakfast to others, then commandeered in the kitchen to help prepare tonight’s dinner. The good thing about it is that I got to taste it all before everyone else and… hmm, I’ll tell you about that later.

The whole Company knew that, this year, December 24 would be different. So all day, the whole Company waited for Lin to signal the beginning of the festivities. And as always in these cases, the wait became unbearable as time went by.

Around 7pm, Lin came out of the mess hall where she had been plotting with Cook and the Lieutenants. We had been kicked out of it, banned from entering and had been chomping at the bit like kids.

We had all gathered in the courtyard, around the flagpole and, to kill time, had started a veehema competition, just for fun: I had stood in the center of the arena and I had teased and taunted the others until one of them challenged me to take my place. To win, you had to immobilize the other for ten seconds. Not as easy as it seems, let me tell you.

I had immobilized a certain number of them when my little mate Tito presented himself and… he got me. He jumped on my back and 60kg didn’t do much to me. Until, putting pressure on the back of my knees and strangling me some, he slowly made me concede, until I fell to the ground, on all fours, where he took the opportunity to flip me on my back – on top of him, then –, blocking my legs with his and forcing me to use my arms to try and loosen his grip so I could breathe.

Small, flexible, not very heavy and lethal. That’s Tito. As I said, only Doc is smaller than he is.

Tito held the title for quite a while. Dio, the tallest of us after Erk – well, he’s barely taller than Kris – presented himself and… I can’t say he cheated, there are no rules in veehema. Anyway, he grabbed Tito by his sweater and lifted him off the ground, expecting to be able to thrown him down and pin him. The little guy grabbed onto the corporal’s wrist, threw his legs up to wrap them around Dio’s neck, let go of his wrist and let himself drop towards the ground, leaving his sweater in the man’s fist. Unbalanced, Dio fell headfirst, focusing on his landing so as not to leave the imprint of his broken nose in the sand and Tito found himself under the corporal, his head between the knees of the big man and the latter’s most precious within reach. There are no rules in veehema.. Dio cared about his family jewels. He gave in.

It was Mac who got Tito. He couldn’t get her to the ground but she grabbed him and immobilized him. She had to exert herself, sure, but hey… she got him.

She went undefeated after that. If Erk had participated, it probably would have been him the undefeated champion… Laughing, we all rushed her and that’s how we managed to get her. By the numbers.

We were sorting ourselves out, laughing out loud, when we heard slow applause. Lin, who had posted herself at the entrance to the mess Hall, a small smile on her beautiful mouth (I know, I’m biased), was applauding us.  
\- Well done! Nice technique! OK, go get cleaned up, no sand in the mess hall. You have ten minutes.

We went, shaking our sweaters and laughing. Then, behaving but still buzzing with excitement, eager to see what the officers had planned, we headed for the mess hall.

The tables had been pushed against the walls – some had been completely dismantled (they are wood slabs on trestles, with wing nuts to lock them) – covered with white sheets and food.

The benches had been placed in a half-circle around the sound system, at a good distance. The brothers were invisible.

Fatso gave each of us a glass of champagne! And when we were all seated, including Cook, his wife and Mustard, we were surprised when the lights went off. A spot lit the floor in front of the sound system and we heard the opening bars of “Dancing Queen”, by ABBA.

And the brothers showed up and gave us a really cool disco dance number, completely in sync, and God how graceful they were despite their fatigues and boots! We applauded heartily. Then Lin and Erk followed up with “Does your mother know”, again from ABBA, and it was funny to see Lin playing the underage little girl trying to seduce the Viking, fifteen years younger than her, still. There again, a big round of applause.

Then Kris came to join Erk and they started a tango. Fuck!! Kris’s dance is front of Larsen was damn erotic, but there, their tango was sensual… Erk, like a torero, almost motionless, impassive, insensitive and Kris, completely seductive, alternately shy young girl or femme fatale, insensitive or dripping with sensuality. And all this without smiling, without ever looking their partner in the eye. They ended the tango classically, with Kris leaning back at 45°, held by Erk leaning forward and then, and only then, did they look at each other. And we didn’t do anything. Didn’t say anything. We were speechless, as if struck by lightning.

The brothers exchanged a discreet look, slightly worried, I’d say. Lin came to their aid by clapping and that freed us. We whistled, applauded, there was one or two wolf whistles, and the brothers smiled and stood up.  
\- Damn, Erk, Kris! I said, handing them a glass of champagne. How? Where?  
\- Be more precise, Archer, said Kris after dipping his lips in the champagne.  
\- The dance!

I couldn’t put into words what I was feeling, what I wanted to know. Erk laughed and gave me this damn smile of his that sometimes make me regret being straight.  
\- In Iceland, school started on Monday afternoon, to give us time to come from home to boarding school then high school, but for the rest of the week, lessons started at 8am and ended around 2pm. In the afternoon, we were supposed to play sports or do an artistic activity. We chose ballet dancing, fencing and I chose sculpture. Well, actually clay sculpture. And Kris took the guitar.  
\- Why ballet?  
\- Because it teaches you to put your feet exactly where you want it, which gives you an advantage in team sports, because it also makes the whole body work. And… well, you’ve seen Kris’s muscles when he danced for Larsen?  
\- Yeah, I see. But to go from ballet to tango or worse, to what you did the other day, Kris, is…  
\- Just a step to take, you know, Archer, he replied.  
\- Mmh. In any case, you played us well, making us believe you were absolutely trying to seduce your brother…

And there, I thought I saw, because I was looking at him, a strange smile. It must have been a trick of the light, because he had a big mocking smile on his face.

We sat down at the table – well, it was a buffet, rather – and Cook had outdone himself: homemade foie gras, perfectly cooked, creamy, fragrant, with shallot jam, coarse salt and brioche bread; the classic turkey with chestnuts, but so fragrant and soft that there was not enough – and yet he had counted eight people per bird – served with potatoes and fresh green beans. And for dessert, a Norwegian omelette. I’m not a fan of this dessert, but it’s so spectacular…

While having another glass of champagne, we opened the few gifts, wrapped and placed under the _crèche_.

The first was Baby Jane: she discovered, in its metal case, an EMA 720 MKSR precision rifle: a lighter model, with a shorter range, than the Adlerauge, and more suited to her role with us. Trained as a sniper, an incredible elite sharpshooter – remember the bullet in the cherry 2km away – but our way of doing things called for a mid-range marksman role rather than a true sniper role.  
\- You can imagine, my dear, Lin told her, that this is not really a Christmas present…  
\- Yes, Lin, but thank you anyway. It will be easier to move with this. Thank you.

Fatso, out of two days of recovery – accelerated by Erk – after an operation intended to place connection ports in his left arm for a prosthesis arm, discovered, then, a very nice prosthesis. Lin explained to him that the enhancement was her gift: indeed, it wasn’t the basic one he had ordered, but something mechanical that allowed him a wide variety of movement. The prosthesis was pretty crude looking, and there was some kind of synthetic skin glove to hide the inner workings of it, but he ended up wearing it without. He would have a pair of long leather gloves made for him later and would hardly take them off.

Right on the spot, Doc put it on his stump and connected it and Fatso demonstrated to us, tears in his eyes, how his fingers moved, grabbing a slice of bread in his left hand. He destroyed it completely and Doc told him that he would have to follow daily exercises that would allow him to reach a finer motor control.  
\- Let’s hide a gun in it, behind the hand, and it will be the best! His voice was hoarse with emotion.

We laughed, imagining our Lieutenant with a gun in each hand, a cigar at the corner of his mouth, with his beret and Ray Bans, looking like a war movies badass.

There was a very small package for Tito. Surprised, he looked at me, but I was as surprised as he was. Opening it, he showed us a terracotta figurine that was of the unmistakable Viking style. It represented Tito in uniform, with a big knife and a conical hat. He looked at Erk.  
\- It’s a garden gnome, your other career choice. I had to make it, but since there’s none in the _crèche_ … The pointed base is to plant it in the earth, to return it to its natural habitat.

My buddy’s throat was very tight. He barely managed to utter a “Thank you”. The gnome would find its place between the bougainvillea and the jasmine.

The brothers opened their Italian package. We were all very impatient to discover what a Mafia godfather would give to two legionnaires for Christmas.

On top of the parcel, protected by bubble wrap with Kris’s name on it, was a wooden box – an work of art in itself –, shining with beeswax, which Kris opened gently to discover an very nice old leather-bound edition of the Divine Comedy, by Dante, in Italian. On top was a small envelope which he opened. He burst out laughing.  
\- Erik, Matteo writes that, whatever you think, you absolutely have to open your present.

The Viking had a big kid smile.  
\- I meant to anyway!

He plunged both hands in the straw that filled the crate. He took out two large panettones which he handed to Cook to share and discovered underneath some panforte, a sort of Italian nougat, which went the same way. More straw then the treasure: two bottles of grappa, twelve of prosecco and one of Lacryma Cristi, from the birth year of the brothers. That’s how I know they were born in 2095 and were then 25 years old. The youngest in the Company. I suspected it, but now it’s confirmed.

Erk sounded a bit hoarse, though, when he made a silly joke about Rizzi trying to bribe him. He immediately shared the grappa – we all had a little of it, to taste – and the prosecco went to the fridge.

We had a great time, undisturbed by the bad guys. I think that they didn’t know that at this time of the year we were relying on our high-tech tent pegs to protect us.

Well, Phone and Mike had pagers on them, connected to the Ops room, just in case. What Lin told me later was that she knew that this evening would be exceptional, with all our comrades around us, but that next year, the bad guys would be aware and we would have to post sentries and be very vigilant.

But, in any case, that year, we made the most of it.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got my very own fanfiction! I can't believe that. One of my readers loved Tito so much she decided to write a little something from his point of view! Ain't that cute!

The next day, as promised, we all got equipped as for a patrol and left for the village. It was no longer snowing, but the snow had not melted yet. It was so beautiful, our promontory, under this immaculate layer…

The non-combatants accompanied us: Cook was dragging a cart with a gas stove and a tightly closed and already hot large kettle from which wafted the scent of hot apple juice, cinnamon and orange peels. In their backpacks, Ketchup and Mustard carried lukewarm brioches with board and knife. Doc and Nanny, Mike and Phone were there too, each carrying a small crate containing Erk’s second batch. He wasn’t carrying anything, Doc had told him that if he wanted to go back to the field he needed just a little more rest, especially after dancing that damn tango with his brother.

We found the villagers at the foot of the promontory, just where our path leaves the northern road. Cook set up his stove to keep the apple juice warm and started distributing it, along with slices of brioches. The people of the village offered us biscuits and tea. We talked together in Turkmen, the main local language, along with Dari.

The cutest was the Viking. And how can a man that big be that cute, I have no idea.

He was sitting on the ground, his guns emptied of their respective magazines, tucked under his vest to be easily grabbed and snapped in if needed but out of the reach of the children who could injure themselves. He leaned against a rock, surrounded by boxes… and kids. And both dogs, which let the little ones climb over them.

No bun today, just a really long ponytail, which some kids touched, fascinated by the color and length. His hair is exactly the color of gold. If you have a piece of gold jewelry at home, look at it, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Falling down his back, it looked like a waterfall of precious metal.

One of the kids remarked he had a girl’s long hair. That made him laugh. A toddler had sat in the crook of his long legs, holding a strand of his hair in one hand and sucking his other thumb.

Erk started telling a story in Turkmen, getting help from one of the older girls when a word was missing. From the little I caught, he was telling the story of Samson and Delilah, explaining with a laugh that it was the reason why he’d let his hair grow. Then he moved to fairy tales, Sleeping Beauty, Puss in Boots, putting his own spin on the story and the children were in stitches. Some of us, understanding Turkmen and sidling close, would smile discreetly when the narrator deviated a bit from the tale, or added a fun or out-of-context remark, or a downright modern twist on the story. It seems to me that the Puss had a smartphone with an app like AirBnB to find the castle and another, like Tinder, to find an available princess. And I’m positive the Prince had a GPS with an annoying voice to find the Sleeping Beauty. Although we were far from everything, smartphones were quite common even if, in this village, only the chief and a few others had them.

Every now and then one of us would bring him a glass of apple juice or tea and he would slip a “Thank you” into his narration.

He was doing the characters’ voices, and his high pitched voice for princesses or fairies was hilarious, especially coming from his warm baritone. He also used a lot of gestures. The children were hanging on his every word.

I notice that one of his hands was resting, protective, around the shoulders of the baby holding his hair.

One of the children having asked what was in the crates, Erk pretended to check if any adult was around and opened them one by one. And with pseudo magical gestures, he took a whole terracotta bestiary out of them and distributed it to the children amid shouts of joy.

And then, we had to go our separate ways, and the one who had the most trouble seeing the villagers leave was the giant. The baby’s mother, glad to have been able to relax, kissed him on the cheek, making him blush.

We left, behaving like good little soldiers, on the alert as always, even when chitchatting with our villagers, the giant utterly silent.  
\- Kris, I asked, why is your brother sad?  
\- He loves children and you have seen how comfortable they are with him…  
\- Yes.  
\- Well, for a while he forgot what we’re doing here and now, it just came right back at him. Did you notice he put the magazines back in his guns?  
\- Yeah. Is he going to stay like this for a long while?  
\- No, it’ll pass. He’s soon going to be the same Viking who stuck you with laundry chores or threatened to send you with Tito in the pit.

Kris smirked and I responded with a big innocent smile.

The next day, planning meeting.

We all gathered in the mess hall, as usual, with pots of Cook’s mild coffee.

Lin began by announcing that we would change our patrols so they were no longer predictable and that, now that we had all worked together for four months, the patrol composition would be fixed until further notice. These four months had allowed our officers to find out the best possible synergies between us.

Then she got to the heart of the matter.

Lately, after the kidnapping of the Viking, we had mostly reacted. Apart from the kerosene theft. Lin decided it was time to tackle the second big fish on our list, Duran Duran, Ashraf Abdâlî Durrani, the one we stole the fuel from.

The good news was he didn’t know who stole it. The bad news was that there aren’t that many of us around and he must have had a vague idea, some vague assumptions, about the culprit.

So, planning meeting.

Lin told us we would treat the Duran Duran problem as guerrilla warfare, because we didn’t have the means to wage a frontal war which, in any case, risked damaging the positive image we had started to show to the populations, as witnessed by our tea with the villagers.

Our actions had to be considered with several goals: to demoralize Durrani and his men, to reduce his troops, to turn him into a bastard and not a martyr when we finally will get him, to push him to react without thinking, in short, in a word or in a hundred, destabilize him.

She asked us to think of ways to piss Durrani off.  
\- At the beginning, I want you to pay attention to the populations. But we’re going to have to push Duran Duran to molest them a bit at some point, if we want them to see him for the bastard he is.

Erk’s face reflected his dislike of the idea, at that point. Lin looked at him, understanding.  
\- I know, _litla mín_. But on that, we must be a necessary evil.

He sighed.  
\- I’m going to paraphrase a Polish author whose name I can’t remember, but evil, whether lesser, medium or great, whether necessary or not, remains evil.  
\- Erk…  
\- No, Lin, I get it. I know I have to, even if that’s not why I became a soldier. And while I understand that we have to make Duran Duran a bastard rather than a martyr, I find it difficult to accept that innocent people must suffer to achieve this. Especially after what happened in the SRH fortress and for which I’m responsible.  
\- Stop your bullshit, Hellason, she said curtly. Let me remind you that on this occasion you’re the victim, not the offender.  
\- But if I hadn’t…  
\- But if you hadn’t done what you did, the journalist and her cameraman would have died, along with Fatso. So you did what you had to. And thanks to your phenomenal anger, we got rid of the SRH.

He looked away, not liking to be reminded of the massacre he’d carried out. I felt that what shocked him the most about he had done was not so much the killing, after all, as a soldier, that was what he did. I think what shocked him the most was that he had done it with his bare hands – or almost – and I will admit that to know that a man, or a woman, when pushed to their limits, can kill without weapons, that just freaks me out. At the same time, I am both in awe of the Viking’s feat and horrified that he had to and could do this.

There was something in all our eyes that, while not pity, because Erk refused it, was understanding. We have all killed, at least once. We know, as soldiers, what it’s like to take a life. But all of us here, with the exception of the Icelanders, did it with a weapon, be it knife or gun. Or bow. For Lin or Kris, I can’t swear they have killed with their bare hands, but I can’t also swear they haven’t. As for Erk, some of us saw the result that still wakes me up at night sometimes.

Lin looked at him for a while, then, very quietly:  
\- Erik, that day you did us a huge service. Guerrilla wouldn’t have worked. A classic frontal assault would have cost us dearly in men. Thanks to you, we not only lost no one, but we even got one more Lieutenant out of it.

She paused again and then walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.  
\- I know the price you paid for us is immense. I know how much it weighs on you, how much it goes against your beliefs. I can only be grateful and thank you, again, for getting rid of the SRH, they were the worst. Fewer but worst. Thanks to you, the children are a little safer. Thanks to you, they have the hope of having a life that is a little more normal, a little less violent, maybe a little longer than what it might have been.

Talking about the children was a good idea. The Viking looked up at her, stared at her then gave her a tiny smile. She squeezed his shoulder and returned to her seat. On the way, she asked:  
\- Erik, do you remember the principles of war?

He scratched his forehead, thoughtful. And turned away from his worries which was, I believe, Lin’s goal.  
\- It’s not Sun Tzu, so it must be von Clausewitz. He said that the principles of war are: to divide and conquer, to identify weak points and attack them relentlessly, and to misguide the enemy’s mind to the point that he dares not do anything for fear of making a mistake. He also said that you have to have public opinion on your side.

\- Thank you. We are going to base ourselves on that, even if divide and conquer is halfway done, since the warlords are fighting each other. But nothing prevents us from finding a rift in the alliances they all have on their side and from exploiting it too. I will ask Intelligence to provide me with as much information as possible. You should try, when on patrol, to collect some too. So the watchword is to make the population talk, to help them, to be the good guys. Help them out, like when Serval patrol cleaned up the cesspit.

She drank a little coffee and went on.  
\- It’s obvious that the easiest is to identify the weak points. We’re going to attack them, using the dirtiest, craziest, most… whatever tricks possible. She shrugged and continued. Everything to make him loose his mind. All ideas are welcome except one: the poisoning of the aquifer. It’s too dangerous for the civilians.

A pause, so we would understand that this idea would go straight to oblivion and that it wasn’t even worth thinking about it. Of course, we all did…  
\- I already have some ideas, but I would like to see what your twisted, sick minds can come up with, she concluded with a sarcastic smile. Surprise me.

Fatso then took the floor.  
\- In the meantime, guys, patrols: Hellason brothers, Puma, Curly and Dio, Leopard…


	32. Chapter 32

So, the same evening, we left on patrol with the brothers.

As it was impossible for Lin to separate them without making them significantly less efficient, this was the composition of our patrol: the two Icelanders, Tito, Baby Jane with her new toy, Quenotte, JD and Yaka. One is missing. And I. I was forgetting myself, idiot that I am.

We went north on a Puma patrol. Four days of trudging through rocky terrain. Oh, we weren't bored at all, because of Erk. Poor guy, he didn't do it on purpose, but we all had a bad night because of him.

It was the third night out, the others were sleeping, I was on guard with JD. As we were close to the Dotard's territory, we preferred to be at least two on duty.

I heard low moans, Yaka woke up and went to push Erk with her nose. But he didn't wake up. Kris did, though, and he understood the problem right away.

He started by trying to wake his brother softly, going for the right shoulder (safe awakenings on the right, ready to fight on the left) but nothing, no waking up and Erk started to mumble and all we could identify was his brother's name. The way he called for him was... it was heartbreaking. He sounded like a lost little boy. It was... seeing this big guy cry like a child was really hard on us. There was so much anguish in that call.

Then the nightmare changed and Erk started to struggle, wailing "No no no" and slipped away from Kris and it was so weird to see him struggling while being almost still.  
\- Fucking Chechens! Kris spat.

He knelt down, straddling his brother, took his face in his hands and started talking to him very softly. Erk gradually calmed down, then a pebble rolled out from under Yaka's paw and the Viking really started struggling, arms and legs hitting all over the place, arching and lifting Kris who was using all his weight to try and keep him down.

We wanted to help, so Quenotte and I caught his hands and blocked them above his head.  
\- Fuck, no, Kris said. Along his sides, right away. Tito, Baby Jane, on his legs, but keep them together.

We obeyed, JD stayed on guard. And Kris kept talking to his brother, stroking his face, patting his cheeks, talking, talking all the way to breathlessness. And the giant calmed down. He slowly stopped struggling, his breathing slowed. Kris put a hand on his plexus, sliding it down close to his navel and up again to the plexus, at a rate always slower that the Viking's jerky breathing. And his voice was oh so very calm, soothing.

Without opening his eyes, calmed, appeased, Erk grabbed his hand and didn't let go, so Kris lay down beside him, his head on his shoulder and his hand trapped in his brother's.

Baby Jane retrieved the Viking's blanket and covered the brothers with it, with Kris' thanks and they went back to sleep.

We went back to sentry duty, JD and I, shaken, like the others, by this episode. If you want my opinion, that was a panic attack worthy of a PTSD. A PTSD caused by Chechens, then.

With Russia back to being a religious monarchy (Christian ascendant orthodox, this time), Chechnya, Muslim, fundamentalist and belligerent, had more or less seceded and compensated for its small size with incredible aggressiveness. With no more subsidies from Moscow, the Chechen government turned to racketeering, extortion and kidnapping for funding. Not to mention trafficking of all kinds (human beings, drugs, weapons, etc.)

For now, the UN and NATO were watching from afar, trying to extricate themselves for the Middle East. It is possible that, once this region is stabilized, it will be used as a forward base to fight against Chechnya. And the others in the area who would think of screwing things up.

In the morning, Erk opened an eye, sleep drunk, surprised that it was this late. He had had a night guard scheduled, but given his condition and the absence of senior officers – they were both asleep – I decided to take it away from him. Feeling a weight on his shoulder, he flinched, waking up his brother.  
\- What are you doing here?  
\- Nightmares, Kris said, blinking sleepily.  
\- At your age?  
\- No, you, silly. He was now wide awake, the little brother, disentangling himself from the big one.  
\- I? But...

We daren't say anything, so Kris told Erk to ask us. We only had to nod our heads when he looked at us for him to understand. He sat down with his hands clenched in his hair. He knew what was causing his nightmares. And then Kris took his hands, and their knuckles were white, and kneeled down in front of him to talk to him again.

Having made some coffee Quenotte handed a mug for Erk and the Viking drank it slowly and when his mug was empty, he had calmed down. Crestfallen, sorry but calmed down. He apologized, we forgave and even tried to laugh a little, even if our hearts were not really into it, and our laughter was strained.

We went back to base, attentive to what was going on around us but I could see that the night episode was afflicting us all. The brothers exchanged words in Icelandic, then I got the impression they had a disagreement. They didn't speak to each other for the rest of the day. A true pain in the ass.

We were lucky that Kris agreed to tell us quickly about it that evening while Erk went to take a leak. He knew, as we saw when he came back, that Kris would tell us the story, but he didn't want to hear it, hence his excursion.

A little before they arrived at the Company, the brothers, on a mission is Sochi, on the shores of the Black Sea, had been attacked and kidnapped just outside a bar, by a group of about fifteen Chechens who had managed to incapacitate Kris by dislocating his shoulder as Erk kicked half a dozen Chechen asses, accidentally killing two or three with his bare hands. A bullet in his right flank (remember, just before he told me about Siberia) and a taser hit later, and the two of them had been shipped to Chechnya.

For having killed his men, the leader had punished Erk by binding him with his hands above his head – hence Kris' orders – and depriving him, by drugs and other means, of all his senses but smell. For two days. Kris had been forced to watch his brother struggle, scream, call for help. Lose himself. Without being able to do anything since Erk couldn't hear him, couldn't see him...

Lin and some Roses & Rifles had come to the rescue thanks to the GPS chip in their belts and it had taken the idyllic setting of Matteo Rizzi's villa, of the shores of Lake Como, for Erk to come to his senses, following this sensory deprivation. Not to mention the physical damage to heal for both, of course. Nor the drugs to be eliminated. Kris had a faraway look at that time. I guess it must have been particularly hard on him, too.  
\- Why you? I dared to ask.

Kris rubbed his forehead, hesitating.  
\- Wrong place, wrong time...  
\- Shit...  
\- Yeah...  
\- He's got some back luck, your brother, or a price on his head, or...?

He looked at me for a moment.  
\- They wanted soldiers. That's all.

I wasn't convinced.

Erk walked back at that moment, so we fell silent. He sat very close to his brother, almost touching him, accepted the cup of soup – the famous Kub broth – and carefully avoided meeting our eyes. Under the pressure of the looks we too avoided, out of pity as far as I am concerned and probably also for the others, he began to crack and leaned again his brother, his cup forgotten in his hand. JD took it from him before he spilled it.

Kris put an arm around the giant, pulling his head against his shoulder with his other hand, resting his cheek on the golden hair. Yaka came to sit in the Viking's lap, trying to lick his face.

We looked at each other, finally, and then Baby Jane came to stand behind Erk and put her arms around his neck, resting her head against his, whispering in his ear. Tito crouched in front of him, one hand on his knee for balance, and we all came over to touch him, reassure him.  
\- Erk, I said, we can never know, never guess, what you went through, okay? No matter how hard we try, we won't be able to. But some of us here have a dark past too.

I looked at Baby Jane, Tito, Quenotte...  
\- What I mean, Erk, is that if we're here, it's to escape this past, somehow. I think I can say that flight is not the best solution. But we all ran away from something. I also think I can say, and please feel the touches of your patrol, that the people around you now, who saw your panic attack last night and this morning, these people are supporting you no matter what.

I stopped, rather surprised of my eloquence.  
\- I'm not sure what I'm saying is making sense, but if Kris told us about... what happened, it's probably because, as members of the same patrol, we must be able to trust each other and to count on each other to do the right thing. Now, Erk, we know your weakness. You have one, actually, you who we thought superhuman.

I tried humor. It vaguely worked, there were a few quiet chuckles, even Kris smiled.  
\- But, most of all, we know how to counter it, how to help you get out of your attacks, with the help of your brother. You can always count on all of us to help you, Erik. You will never be alone with your suffering.

I looked for other people's eyes and everyone nodded. And as Erk, face still hidden into the neck of his rock of a little brother, couldn't see them, they all said, yes, sure, absolutely.  
\- Thank you, he replied, voice choked.  
\- You're welcome. Now, Lieutenant, without wanting to give you any orders, I think you should talk to Cook. After all, he's a shrink before he's a cook. And he helped you with the SRH, right?

He nodded.  
\- Well. I don't know about you, Lieutenant bis, but I think we should be able to eat now, don't you think so?  
\- Yeah, corporal. Hope your cooking is edible, if not equal to Cook's.  
\- Ah, well, I'm French, so cooking is in my genes!

Kris cracked a joke with a wink. He seemed to have understood the purpose of my bullshit. We traded wisecracks and jokes, while Erk recovered. He straightened up, pulled out a very normal handkerchief from his left trouser pocket.

I hadn't really done any cooking, just pulled the tab that triggered the heating on our MREs and handed Erk some Provence beef stew. I know he likes that dish very much. We messed around again during the meal, our eyes attentive to what was happening behind the guy in front of us, our ears on the alert. We ignored Erk. Well, not really ignored... We just didn't force him to participate. He just listened and smiled, sometimes.

He wanted to be the on the first night watch, I kept him company. He looked at me for such a long time I felt uncomfortable.  
\- I think I should call you "Saint John Chrysostom", Kerhervé, rather than Archer.

I said nothing, surprised. I waited.  
\- Because you knew the words I needed to hear. Thank you, Archer. Thanks for your support. I suspected that you all had dark stories like me. I just didn't think about it.  
\- Erk, I'm not Cook, but I think that if you want to discuss it, talk about it, I can listen. I don't think I can orient your thoughts the way he would, but I can at least listen.  
\- Thank you my friend.

We finished our guard in peace. We were close to the base now, so we were relatively quiet, but we were always careful. As when you're driving, it's always on the daily trips, the safe trips – the safe part of our patrols – that accidents happen.


	33. Chapter 33

At breakfast the day after, the Viking looked better. He was starting to joke with us again. So much the better.

We left, I managed to isolate Kris at the back of the patrol, out of earshot of the others. He let himself be pulled back, he suspected that I wanted to talk to him alone.

In front of us, in the middle of the patrol, Erk was chatting with Baby Jane, making her laugh and giving her his big smile, still a bit blurry around the edges.  
\- He's flirting with her, right? I asked.  
\- Is that why you ambushed me, Archer?  
\- No. I've so many questions about you two. And since it's been bothering me for a while, I... I'd rather ask you. You answer only if you want.  
\- I'm listening.  
\- When I look at you two, I see a tall guy, handsome and well turned out and, above all, with a mind of steel. And then, opposite, a giant, as beautiful as a young god, so hot that if I swung as Tito does, I would have tried my luck, a man who can lift two guys at arm's length to throw them with quite some force and... mentally, he's the weaker of you two. Well, that's the impression I get. So, of course, I wonder.

He looked at me, then his gaze wandered around us. I noticed that, like all of us, except Baby Jane, of course, he had a three-day stubble – well, four days, right, three is just the expression – and that his right hand was rubbing his cheek without daring to scratch.  
\- Well, I wondered too. I've known him since we were little, right, and despite everything, I still wonder once in a while. As long as we were in the Legion, he was fine. Oh, he had nightmares after the tigers, but they quickly passed. You see, if all of his scars are traces of what happened to him, not everything that happened to him has necessary left physical marks. You may have noticed that he has no traces of the lashes or the knife slash from the SRH.

He looked at the ground for a moment, then up at his brother's broad back.  
\- I have several explanations, or reasons, for why he's like this. The first, for me the most important, if you will, is that he's, basically, a sweetheart. And many have asked me why, with his healing gift, so powerful, and his kindness, isn't he a doctor?  
\- Why?  
\- Because he can't ration it. He gives everything to the others. I don't have a single scar, not even from a scratch. He heals me, regardless of the severity. It has become reflex, for him. It's worse than that, it's unconscious. After the... At Lake Como, when he wasn't quite... back, he healed me completely. He... they had put my shoulder back in place but it was swollen, sore and that night he had a nightmare, the same, and I touched him to calm down and...

Kris sighed, shaking his head. He seemed to be looking into the distance again, but this time I saw he was mostly looking deep inside himself.  
\- One day I will tell you in detail the story of the Varda's lifting sling but know that on that day, without his inability to ration his gift, our islands would have lost three inhabitants and gained two severely disabled persons, me included, and a large number of injured. And the doctor who took over from Erik to save the wounded that day advised him not to go into medicine. Because he is not measured in the use of his gift.

He stopped talking, I respected his silence.  
\- That sweetheart of a man, that big teddy bear, when confronted with malicious, voluntary, gratuitous violence, doesn't know how to manage it, how to assimilate it. Our years as legionaries have done him good, but he's still that nice sweet boy. Look how he was with the kids the other day. Or with women.

Another pause, a sip of water. We were reaching the bottom of our canteens, it was more than time to go home.  
\- When he's with a woman, he takes care of her, first. When someone needs to talk, he will listen to them with all his attention on them. When someone needs help, he rushes in, without always considering all the parameters. Look how it was with the journalist.

I thought about it all, but it wasn't enough for me, as an explanation. You can be nice and strong mentally, right? Kris looked at me, saw my doubts.  
\- I have another, more subtle explanation. He has no roots.

I looked at him, dumbfounded. I didn't understand the connection.  
\- He's never known his parents, he doesn't know where he comes from. He has no anchor, he's fragile. And even if my parents gave him the same love as they did to me, deep down inside him, he knows that he can never go looking for his parents, like so many adopted children do, to find his roots. He knows who they are, Harald and Sæfríður, he knows he probably descends from LeifurEiríksson, but otherwise? What is the history of his family? You'll notice he never says Mum, always Hella. Listen, you'll understand.

He rubbed his cheek. His growing stubble must be itching, and he hates that.  
\- Final explanation, he was so often the target of attacks, assaults, and I think that despite our years in the Legion, that weakened him. I wish I could rebuild my big brother, but as long as he is attacked, assaulted like that, it will be difficult.  
\- What, in your opinion, makes him a target so often, Kris?

He looked at me for a long time, still walking, not falling despite the stones.  
\- I will say his beauty attracts some attentions that don't suit him, if you see what I mean. His size attracts attention, his strength provocations, aggressions, as with the SRH.  
\- In Sochi too?  
\- Yes, I think so, despite what I told you, if it happened to us, it's because he is beautiful. After all, we weren't the only soldiers.  
\- Thank you, I have something to think about now.  
\- Mmm. If you see a way to make him stronger, let me know, OK?  
\- You can count on me, Kris. I think you should tell Cook about all that, you know. It might help him... help Erk.  
\- I will think about it.  
\- You said that when you were in the Legion, it was okay. I think maybe that just being in an army corps, even just fifty men, can help.  
\- The esprit de corps?  
\- And our support? Camaraderie?  
\- Mmm. Yes, you might be right.

He seemed to be thinking a bit, so I waited. Then, as he seemed to get lost in himself, again, I filled the silence another time.  
\- I have one very last question: why choose to be a soldier, if he's so sweet?

He gave a tender little smile.  
\- Because, for him, being a soldier can also mean saving lives. And that's all that matters to him.  
\- I see.

We continued in silence. The morning turned into the afternoon and then, when we were just one hour from base, we heard gunshots in front of us. A burst then an isolated shot. Then our earpieces sputtered.  
\- BLC to Puma, BLC to Puma.  
\- Puma here, Erk replied.  
\- We heard shots. Sounded like they came from your area.  
\- Yes, we heard. We'll go and see. Puma out.

The Viking was back. The crisis of the day before forgotten. He gave orders, we got our minds back in the right set up and off we went.  
\- Kris, how far, do you think?  
\- About a klick and some.

Erk shook his head.  
\- That's precision for you.  
\- How can I be precise with that fucking echo? Besides, I'm not Lin.

JD sent Yaka to scout. We continued our cautious advance. She came back, stood up, front paws on JD's thighs, and stared at him. He looked completely stunned. Kris came to his side.  
\- Are you OK? You look weird?  
\- She just showed me a picture.  
\- What?!

We all heard. And we all reacted like Kris.  
\- Fuck, JD, couldn't you tell us you understood animals?  
\- But I didn't know. This is the first time, Kris, hell, this is...

If he hadn't had his helmet on, I think he would have pulled at his hair.  
\- That's why she attached herself to you, JD, Erk said. She felt you would understand her one day. What was the picture?  
\- There's a injured young woman not far from here.  
\- Hostiles?  
\- Negative. And no, she can't show me the extent of the injuries.

Erk gave a small sorry smile.  
\- OK, send her back, let her reassure her. And make sure she's careful.

Tito stayed with JD, they would join us once Yaka got her mission. We went on trotting, attentive. Yaka passed us at full speed, the two dudes caught up with us. We quickly came to where the dog was. She was standing near the injured woman, on the alert, occasionally lowering her nose to reassure her.

JD congratulated her as Erk leaned over the girl. We set ourselves around, guarding him.  
\- Kris, come over and get the first aid kit, please.  
\- The bullet came through?  
\- No. I need the long tweezers and something to clean. Hello miss. Everything's fine, we're taking care of you.  
\- Who are you?

The tone was dry, but since the face was pinched, covered in sweat, it must have been the pain speaking.  
\- Friends. Let us take care of you, we'll do the introductions later, OK?  
\- Could you get the dog away, please?  
\- She's very sweet but we'll do it anyway. Are you afraid of dogs? Kris asked as he sterilized the tweezers while Erk cut the gray pants after removing the pads she wore on her knees. Kris handed the implement to his brother and a roll of fabric to the miss, who looked at him with wide eyes.  
\- He is very gentle, but it will still hurt a little anyway...

So instead of answering the dog question, she accepted the roll and bit down on it. And even though Erk did it as fast and as gently as possible, we could see it was painful. The Viking handed the tweezers and bullet to Kris, asking him to keep it carefully. As Kris obeyed and cleaned the instrument, Erk put his hands on the girl's skin, they glowed and the wound completely closed.

Kris gave me a knowing look, I raised an equally knowing eyebrow. Then the giant ran a hand at the back of her head and again his hand glowed and the miss' pinched face relaxed. He took her under her arms and straightened suddenly, lifting her up to then put her down on her own two feet.  
\- Are you okay, Miss... ? He was waiting for her to introduce herself.  
\- Alyss Litzer.  
\- Nice to meet you, Alyss. I'm Erk, on his knees preparing a vile concoction for me is Kris...

We introduced ourselves by our nicknames, she looked surprised but didn't say anything.

Kris had taken his brother's canteen, poured part of it into his own, then, rummaging through the remains of our rations, got a packet of salt and two of sugar. He poured everything into the giant's canteen, shook it well so it melted and handed it to him.

Erk made a funny face, like a puppy trying to avoid something bad but Kris was adamant. Erk took the canteen, whispered "Mother hen" and drank very, very quickly. His large body shook with a gigantic shiver and he exhaled at length.  
\- You could forgo the salt, though, bro.  
\- Certainly not, you know you need this to rehydrate yourself, Kris said, pulling the neckline of the giant's sweater and revealing a brand new sweat ring on the collar of his long-sleeved t-shirt, despite the rather bracing temperature.  
\- Stop undressing me, Kris. It's cold.  
\- The descendant of Erik the Red complaining about the cold! That's a good one! Your ancestor must be spinning in his grave like the axle of a high-speed train!

Erk rolled his eyes, Kris laughed as he let go of the sweater.

Alyss, caught between the brothers, opened her eyes wider and wider. I found her to be a little pale, but the truth is that Erk doesn't replace lost blood. I rummaged in my pockets, found a slightly squished granola bar and gave it to her.  
\- Thank you. Archer, is that it?  
\- Yes miss. I'll take your bag, you'll walk next to Quenotte, the redhead with a bow, he'll help you if needed.  
\- All right, uglies, let's go! Erk said. And be...  
\- Yeah, we now... attentive, Tito said, the girl's gun in his hand.

Erk laughed. We all went. We were tired, dirty and in a hurry to get home. We didn't necessarily pay attention to our surroundings, but, that close to base, we knew we were relatively safe, far from the Dotard and Duran Duran.

I saw, because I was watching her, Alyss' gaze slide down to her gun, which the Albanian had slipped in his belt. I also saw her eyes slide to her right at one point and then quickly come back to the path. I didn't try to find out more. As I said, we were exhausted.


End file.
